


Dovahsebrom (Dragon of the North)

by TotalEclipseofFic



Series: The Book of the Dragonborn [1]
Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: (Mostly) canon compliant with some embellishments, A metric tonne of worldbuilding, Actual effects from consuming dragon souls, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood Drinking, Body Horror, Cannibalism, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Death, Content Warning: Politics, Content from mods, Dawnguard DLC, Dragonborn DLC, Earn Your Happy Ending, Eventual Romance, F/F, F/M, Fantastic Racism, Follower party banter, Gen, Gen with a side of shipping, Graphic Depictions of Illness, Graphic Description of Corpses, Harkon and Valerica's A+ Parenting, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Sex, Implied/Referenced Torture, It's my party and I'll OT3 if I want to, Multi, POV Multiple, Philosophising on the purpose of the Dragonborn, Post-Civil War, Post-Main Quest, References to past games, Religious Conflict, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Ruminations on being a dragon with a mortal body, Slow Burn, Team as Family, The Dragonborn Needs A Hug, The Dragonborn's stream-of-consciousness reaction to events in the game, The Green Pact, Updated sporadically, Various and sundry headcanons
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-10
Updated: 2018-10-12
Packaged: 2019-06-08 06:53:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 11
Words: 44,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15237825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TotalEclipseofFic/pseuds/TotalEclipseofFic
Summary: Thuban Swift-Arrow, half-Nord Bosmer marksmer, has been doing unusually well for herself since she came to Skyrim to seek her fortune and flee her past. She's discovered that she's the Last Dragonborn of prophecy, and has used her new status to give help to people who need it. Taking after her father, she joined the Imperial Legion, and has not only risen through the ranks to Legate, but helped to stop Skyrim's civil war before it could truly begin, saving the Empire from fracturing before the threat of the Aldmeri Dominion. She's become Thane of Whiterun and Eastmarch, and a champion of Hircine and Meridia. With new purpose and a purse fat with coin, she believes her doom-driven life to be behind her.That is, until she returns from Sovngarde after defeating Alduin.Now the consequences of being the 'Last Dragonborn' have caught up with her. Her dragon soul has made its mark on her appearance, forcing her to confront the reality of her birthright. She's saved the world from the World-Eater, but Alduin was not the only being with designs for the end of Nirn as she knows it. And it's not only gods and monsters who want a piece of her, but her fellow mortals, too. Tiid bo amativ.





	1. Dragonslayer

**Author's Note:**

> TL;DR this is just another retelling of Skyrim questlines, but hopefully with more meat on the bones than in-game. My muse has wanted to scratch this itch for a while, since I love the extensive, in-depth world the Elder Scrolls series gives us and find the idea of playing in its sandbox so damn fun.

' _Lingrah krosis saraan Strundu'ul, voth nid balaan klov praan nau. Naal Thu'umu, mu ofan nii nu, Dovahkiin, naal suleyk do Kaan, naal suleyk do Shor, ahrk naal suleyk do Atmorasewuth. Meyz nu Ysmir, Dovahsebrom. Dahmaan daar rok._ '

-

 

It was almost like waking up from a dream, except the dream had been all too real.

 

Like in those first few moments of wakefulness, Thuban could still vividly recall the sounds and sights of Sovngarde. After she, Hakon, Gormlaith and Felldir had cleared Shor’s hall of the enveloping mists that Alduin had used to hide from His prey, she had stood astride the Whale-Bone Bridge with them to behold a realm indescribable. Sovngarde was indeed a part of Aetherius, that much she knew. The rich, lush colours of the aurora-lit sky, the rolling tundra hills, the proud, evergreen forests… and the seat of Shor Himself, so peaceful, so _inviting_ , a resting place for the dead somehow bustling with life –

 

 _Alive_.

 

That was all Thuban could think as she came to her senses.

 

Suddenly, she was aware of the bitter-cold, howling wind that passed through her heaving mouth and into her lungs, sending shivers through her body. She’d fallen to her knees, and then her hands and knees, the freshly-fallen snow beneath her flaring up the nerves in her joints; while the injuries she’d sustained during her journey through Skuldafn to reach Sovngarde had given her enough pain to last a lifetime, she welcomed this, since it reminded her that her soul was still tethered to her body.

 

 _I am alive_.

 

Her hair, come undone from its braids sometime between her fight with the dragon priest Nahkriin and her meeting with mighty Tsun, fell across her face in singed, ragged auburn curtains, shielding her from the worst of Kyne’s breath. Saviour’s Hide, Hircine’s gift to her from what seemed like an era ago, was marked with blood, mud, dirt and snow, its inside clinging to her aching chest from the sheer amount of sweat she’d shed from fight after fight. Dawnbreaker, too, bore the mark of her battles, Meridia’s brilliant, shimmering sword stained with crimson. Bruises and barely-healed scars covered her bare arms, her sore, stiff hands crying out for relief after hours of drawing and releasing the bow slung across her back, its quiver much lighter than usual following her confrontation with the World-Eater.

 

 _I am alive, and Alduin is dead_.

 

 _I killed Him_.

 

Not that Thuban needed reminding. After she oriented herself in the snowdrift that she’d ended up in upon her return to Nirn, she lifted her head (with much protest from her neck) to witness, with much surprise, a peaceful gathering of dragons, the many-coloured wyrms perched atop an outcropping of rock nearby.

 

To her surprise, they appeared to be… singing?

 

‘ _Alduin mahlaan!_ ’ one _dovah_ roared at the night sky. _Alduin is fallen!_

 

‘ _Sahrot thur qahnaraan!_ ’ a chorus of _dov_ roared in reply. _The mighty overlord is vanquished!_

 

‘ _Alduin mahlaan!_ ’

 

‘ _Dovahkiin los ok dovahkriid!_ ’ _The Dragonborn is His dragonslayer!_ ( _No mention of Hakon, Gormlaith or Felldir, but thank you, I suppose_ , Thuban thought wryly, her frostbitten lips stretching into a smirk)

 

‘ _Alduin mahlaan!_ ’

 

‘ _Thu’umii los nahlot!_ ’ _His Shout is silenced!_ ( _Well, no, since Bormahu will return Him to Nirn one day to properly fullfill His divine role, but whatever makes you happy_ , Thuban thought again) (Why did she refer to Akatosh as _Bormahu_ _–_ )

 

‘ _Alduin mahlaan!_ ’

 

‘ _Mu los vomir!_ ’ _We no longer follow Him!_ (Why did she understand Dovahzul as if she were fluent in it–)

 

The flapping of dragon wings interrupted her stream of consciousness, with most of the _dov_ keeping her company taking off into the realm of Kyne. They looked so beautiful in the night, her _briinah_ and _zeymah_ , their scales glittering in the light of the moons. A pang of jealousy emerged in her chest at the sight, her thoughts trailing off into dreams of her shedding her fragile _joor_ body and flying across the skies of _Taazokaan_ as a true _dovah_ , not a tiny, fleshy, mortal –

 

 _Y’ffre’s bones,_ enough _. You are Legate Thuban of the Third Solitude Legion. You are Thane Thuban Swift-Arrow of Whiterun and Eastmarch, sword-sister to Balgruuf the Greater and Brunwulf Free-Winter. You are a champion of Hircine and Meridia, and have earned the respect of Clavicus Vile. You are seventy-five years old, born in Bruma in Cyrodiil, raised Elden Root in Valenwood. You are a Bosmer, your form is a blessing from the Singer-Storyteller, and you are going to stand up on those ‘_ joor _’_ _legs of yours and make use of it to find out just where in Oblivion Tsun Shouted you_.

 

With all the grace of a newborn faun taking its first wobbly steps, Thuban got to her feet. After two tries, anyway. In her first attempt, she fell flat on her face in the snow, a mournful groan of exhaustion escaping her. After promising her legs that she would rest when she was out of the cold, she pressed against them with her hands to steady the straightening of her back. Blinking away the snowflakes that Kyne whipped past her face, she put a hand to her forehead to look around at her surroundings. With all of the dragons that had greeted her, she could only be in Skyrim; Alduin had certainly been busy resurrecting His old thralls at the numerous dragon burial sites that dotted _Keizaal_ (Again with the Dovahzul–), as she’d witnessed herself over the past several months. But where in Skyrim? The thin air, near-untouched snowdrifts and desolate outcroppings of rock had her suspect she was on top of a mountain, but mountains were a septim a dozen in her father’s homeland. It was like saying you were in a jungle in Valenwood, or in a desert in Elsweyr. It meant nothing-

 

 _Almost nothing_ , Thuban thought as she spotted a familiar Word Wall, upon whose walls perched a familiar, comforting presence. Paarthurnax was a dizzyingly ancient _dovah_ whose name translated as ‘Ambition-Overlord-Cruelty’, and had the all-encompassing, terrifying presence of a Daedric Prince manifesting on Nirn, yet when he spotted Thuban, he tilted his head and she could swear he _smiled_ , and all those things dissipated and were replaced by a caring energy that may as well have come from an aspect of Mara. Then again, Nord Mara was represented by the totem of the Wolf, as fierce as She was loving. Perhaps the Thalmor weren’t the only ones wrong about the Divines.

 

Thuban became more aware than she’d have liked of how flimsy even leather armour was against a snowdrift as she pushed through it to greet Paarthurnax, tears of joy rolling down the ravines they’d made on her cheeks earlier. _I’m on top of Monahven…_

 

The Throat of the World. Legend had it that this peak was where Kyne breathed the Nord people into existence. While Thuban wasn’t so sure about that particular tale, the place had something truly divine about it, that was for certain.

 

‘So, it is done,’ Paarthurnax said by way of hello. ‘ _Alduin dilon_. The Eldest is no more. He Who came before all others, and always has been.’ He let out what sounded like a sigh and lowered his head, as if he were in mourning.

 

Thuban sniffed and wiped the tears from her eyes, offering the old _dovah_ a friendly smile. ‘You don’t sound very happy about it.’

 

‘Happy? No, I am not happy,’ Paarthurnax grumbled. ‘ _Zeymahi lost ont du’ol Bormahu_. Alduin was once the crown of our father Akatosh’s creation. You did what was necessary; Alduin had flown far from the path of right action in His _pahlok_ – the arrogance of His power. But I cannot celebrate His fall. _Zu’u tiiraaz_ _ahst ok mah_. He was my brother once. This world will never be the same.’

 

‘I was just fulfilling my destiny as Dragonborn,’ Thuban said, rubbing her arms to keep warm. Y’ffre’s bones, did the gods _want_ her to save Mundus or not? She couldn’t shake the feeling that the grand Arena of Shor was, perhaps, supposed to have been ‘devoured’ by the World-Eater after all, but she mentally stomped on those thoughts the way a skooma smoker would put out a cigar. So long as she was one of the unlucky arseholes who happened to live here, the world would have to carry on existing, thank you very much.

 

Paarthurnax gazed at her for a moment. ‘Indeed, you saw more clearly than I – certainly more clearly than Alduin. _Rok funta koraav_. Perhaps now you have some insight into the forces that shape the _vennesetiid…_ the currents of Time. Perhaps you begin to see the world as a _dovah_.’

 

 _Perhaps you begin to see the world as a_ dovah. Those words stuck in Thuban’s mind, and she suspected they were more than just Paarthurnax’s musings on her fate now that she’d completed the Prophecy of the Dragonborn. It made her chest heavy with anxiety; she gulped in a vain attempt to quell it.

 

‘But I forget myself. _Krosis_. _So los mid fahdon…_ sorrow is an easy trap for a _dovah_ to fall into,’ Paarthurnax said. With another sigh, he shook off piles of snow that had gathered atop his wings and back, presumably during whatever meditation he’d been doing earlier. ‘You have won a mighty victory! _Sahrot krongah_ – one that will echo through all the ages of this world for those who have eyes to see. Savour your triumph, _Dovahkiin!_ This is not the last of what you will write upon the currents of Time.’

 

The old _dovah_ then flapped his wings and lifted himself into the sky, higher than Thuban had ever seen him fly before. ‘ _Goraan!_ I feel younger than I have in an age!’ he said jubilantly. ‘Many of the _dovah_ are now scattered across _Keizaal_. Without Alduin’s lordship, they may yet bow to the _vahzen…_ the rightness of my Thu’um.’ Pausing in mid-air, he turned to face Thuban again. ‘But willing or not, they _will_ hear it! Fare thee well, _Dovahkiin!_ ’

 

And with that, the closest thing Thuban had to a parental figure in her adult life departed the Throat of the World, leaving her with nought but Kyne’s breath for company. The last of the dragons she’d seen atop that outcropping began to leave, too. If she hadn’t spent the past half-year travelling the length and breadth of Skyrim, she would have collapsed into the snowdrift and fallen asleep from sheer, heavy exhaustion, but her recent experience with pushing her body past its limits kept her standing on two feet. Blowing on her hands and rubbing them together to generate more warmth, she looked for the passage down to High Hrothgar, which she remembered (with a wince) that she’d have to Shout her way through the nigh-impenetrable mists that usually concealed it. Until she’d had a hot meal, a hot bath and a long sleep, she never wanted to Shout again. Her stomach muscles were sore and her throat was hoarse from unleashing Shout after Shout against draugr, Nahkriin, Alduin’s thralls, Alduin Himself… gods, how had Talos reshaped Cyrodiil by His breath alone? The Thu’um was simply too much for mortal bodies to bear.

 

‘ _Pruzah wundunne wah Wuth Gein_. I wish the Old One luck on his… quest,’ another familiar voice said through the snowstorm. A touch lighter than Paarthurnax’s, but still deeper than any _joor_ ’s, and more deliberate with Common Tamrielic. ‘But I doubt many will wish to exchange Alduin’s lordship for the tyranny of Paarthurnax’s ‘Way of the Voice’’.

 

Odahviing, the snow-speckled red dragon who’d taken Thuban to Skuldafn to fulfil her destiny, landed beside her with an unceremonious _thud_. He emanated heat like a furnace, and hoping that he wouldn’t find it awkward, Thuban huddled against his belly, underneath one of his wings. Thankfully, he didn’t seem to mind. ‘As for myself, you’ve proven your mastery twice over. _Thuri, Dovahkiin_. I gladly acknowledge the power of your Thu’um.’

 

 _Thuri_.

 _Overlord_.

 _My lord_.

 

The shock of being addressed as ‘lord’ by a dragon caused Thuban to move out from under Odahviing’s wing to meet him face to face. She reached out to place a hand on his snout, staring at him intently, nodding. She didn’t quite know what to say to that. Perhaps she would after some thought on it.

 

‘ _Zu’u Odahviing_ ,’ Odahviing said slowly, enunciating his name like a Shout. Thuban nodded again, shutting her eyes and taking a deep breath, as if she were breathing in the knowledge of this Thu’um. In her mind’s eye, she saw flashes of Odahviing’s first life, prior to his death in the Dragon War. She saw him being risen from his grave by Alduin, Who violently Shouted his soul back into his body. She saw him laying waste to innumerable victims of his anger across Skyrim, bathing them in fire and frost and raw, razor-sharp anger, and understood. ‘Call me when you have need, and I will come if I can.’

 

‘ _Geh_ ,’ Thuban replied instinctively ( _What instincts_ \--). Her brows knit together in confusion, but she shook her head. As she watched Odahviing take off into the night, she decided that she would ponder on her sudden fluency in Dovahzul and desire to shapeshift into a dragon once her basic needs were seen to. Trudging towards the mists that blocked the path down to High Hrothgar, she shook her arms and legs to get some energy into them, prayed to whichever gods were listening that she made it along the slope, and prepared to speak her will to the world she’d just saved.

 

-

 

‘What in Y’ffre’s name are _these_ doing on my fucking head?’

 

Thuban’s confused wail cut through the normally quiet stone corridors of High Hrothgar like a dagger. Her hands were shaking, the tips of her fingers running across the surface of the horns protruding from her skull. Horns. Fucking _horns_. On her _head_. How had she not noticed these upon her return to Nirn? Why had Paarthurnax not said anything? Why hadn’t Odahviing? Come to think of it, why the fuck hadn’t she noticed that, Shor, Kyne and Tsun, her head had _grown new appendages_ _and it had torn through her hair in the process_ when she’d collapsed onto her guest bed the night before, pulling those furs over herself to go to sleep? How gods-damned dense was she?

 

Her hands moved to the base of the horns, near her forehead, where she felt the shorn hairs that had fallen prey to their sudden growth – whenever it had happened. Remembering that she’d handled bones too many times to not be familiar with their texture, she noticed that the horns had the same smooth feeling as a fresh skeleton under her fingers, and her breath hitched. Great, so now she had horns growing out of her skull, and they were guaranteed to be injurious to remove if she gave into the terrified impulse to do so. This wasn’t a Spinner’s antler headdress, able to be taken off and put back on at one’s leisure. They were as much a part of her as any other body part was.

 

‘ _Dovahkiin_ ,’ Einarth whispered from the other end of the corridor; the walls shook at his Thu’um. ‘ _Drem_.’ The Greybeard approached her softly, his threadbare slippers barely making a sound against the stone floor. Putting a gnarled finger to his lips, he tucked the book he was carrying under one arm.

 

‘I will find Arnegir,’ he signed. ‘He will be able to give you counsel.’

 

‘ _Kogaan_ , Master,’ Thuban said, nodding. ‘I… I apologise for disturbing you, if I did. _Krosis_.’

 

‘It is alright, Dragonborn,’ Einar signed. Smiling at her, he pulled his book out again and pattered back down the corridor. Thuban retreated into the guest bedroom she was staying in, climbing onto her bed and curling up with a choked sob. When she rode Odahviing out of Whiterun to confront her fate, she’d expected that her life would return to some semblance of normality after she slayed Alduin. Sure, a child of the Hero of Kvatch would never have a ‘properly’ normal life, but the years she’d spent in the streets of Bruma, the canopy of Grahtwood, the Khajiit caravans… she’d fooled herself, for a while. Perhaps Sheogorath was displeased at Her demiprince whelp outdoing Her in the sphere of madness, because now, her doom-driven soul had left its mark on her body, and she would be reminded that she was Fate’s thrall every time she looked at her reflection.

 

Thuban’s angst was interrupted by a knock on the wooden door to her room. ‘Dragonborn?’ Arngeir asked, sounding concerned. ‘Master Einarth told me you need some help.’

 

‘ _Geh_ \-- I mean, yes. Yes, I would appreciate help, thank you,’ Thuban replied, massaging her temples, wincing.

 

The ancient door opened with a loud creak, and Arngeir shuffled inside, his face barely noticeable under the heavy hood of his Greybeard robes. Thuban sat up in attention. ‘I hear you’ve finally noticed the changes in your appearance, Dragonborn.’

 

‘Changes in my appearance? That’s putting it fucking lightly,’ Thuban spat; she could almost feel her blood boil in its veins as she spoke. Realising her tone of voice, she cringed and smiled at Arngeir apologetically. ‘Oh, gods _. Krosis_. Excuse my temper, Master, it’s just–’

 

‘Horns growing out of one’s head does not happen every day, yes,’ Arngeir said softly. ‘Neither does one’s eyes changing.’

 

_One’s eyes changing… my eyes are different?_

 

(– ‘ _Perhaps you begin to see the world as a_ dovah’ -)

 

Thuban wailed and leaned forward with her face in her hands. ‘Shor, Kyne and Tsun,’ she murmured.

 

‘I don’t think any of Them had anything to do with your situation, Dragonborn,’ Arngeir said. ‘I don’t know how this happened to you at all, really, truth be told. Would you like me to get you a mirror?’ he asked.

 

Thuban nodded. ‘ _Geh_ ,’ she said. Arngeir slipped out to fulfil her request, returning a moment later with a framed slab of frosty glass.

 

‘It won’t give you the greatest picture, unfortunately, but it will paint one for you nonetheless,’ he said, handing it over to her with some effort on his part. ‘The Greybeards have little need for mirrors, I’m afraid.’ _Never let it be said that the Old Men of the Mountain aren’t a frugal lot_.

 

Hesitantly, Thuban adjusted the glass to face her new visage… and it took all of her self-control not to let it slip through her fingers and smash into pieces on the floor. Where her soft, reddish-brown Bosmeri eyes had been (the colour of Grahtwood’s leaves in autumn – the same colour eyes as her Grandmother Iirwaen –), harsh, storm-grey eyes with slit, draconic pupils now sat. They darted around wildly as she drank in her reflection like it was an awful-tasting healing potion. And with those bone horns framing her face in a scarily natural manner, there was a lot to swallow.

 

‘As I said, I don’t know how this happened to you,’ Arngeir offered. ‘Master Borri suggested that perhaps it is your Bosmer blood that has caused these changes – I understand your mother’s people have the inborn ability to shapeshift for if you join the Wild Hunt? And it lays dormant until such time?’

 

‘U-Uh, yeah, _geh_ , yes,’ Thuban said, unable to take her attention off the mirror. Her throat felt like it had a lump the size of a sweetroll stuck inside it, and her chest throbbed with a nervous ache.

 

‘Well, this propensity for shapeshifting inside you may have… interacted, somehow, with the dragon souls you have consumed; you also may experience more changes in your appearance if you continue to consume dragon souls. Akatosh only knows what you might look like in the future.’

 

That caused Thuban to drop the mirror. It landed on the ground with a loud _smash_ , splintering off into many small pieces and scattering across the room.

 

‘Y’ffre’s bones.’

 

Arngeir sighed. ‘Dragonborn, that cost Klimmek a hundred septims. Do be careful with any others you intend to handle.’

 

‘I—uh— _krosis_ , Master Arngeir,’ Thuban apologised. ‘–I mean, sorry. Fuck. I just don’t know what’s happened to me since I returned from Sovngarde… a thousand pardons.’

 

Minding the shards of glass now scattered on the floor, Arnegeir trudged over to Thuban’s bedside and knelt down beside it. ‘You entered a realm of the dead while your heart still beat,’ he began, taking care to mind his tone was as soft and non-threatening as possible. ‘and you returned from it alive. The recorded amount of people who have accomplished such a feat can be counted on a pair of hands.’

 

‘Yeah, but that doesn’t explain the horns, or the eyes,’ Thuban said. ‘Or why I keep mixing up Dovahzul and Common.’

 

‘Ah, now _that_ can be explained,’ Arngeir said. ‘When one uses the Thu’um enough, you will begin to speak partly in Dragon-speech by instinct; Talos did this while He was still mortal, as did Reman Cyrodiil. Sometimes, you will speak entirely in Dragon-speech by instinct, as with Master Borri, Master Einarth and Master Wulfgar. It depends on the individual. Dragonborn, you cannot say how you will end up.’

 

‘Okay, sure, yeah, that’s still completely and utterly terrifying to me and makes me want to sow my mouth shut like Stuhn did with Orkey’s, but alright,’ Thuban stammered, rubbing her hands together for warmth. Even inside the monastery, the _Monahven’s_ bone-chilling cold permeated everything.

 

‘Thuban,’ Arngeir said, looking at her intently. Perhaps referring to her by a title was not helping. ‘You may have the body of a mortal mer, but your soul is that of a dragon’s. It is why you learn Thu’um so easily, why you can absorb knowledge from the souls of dragons that you kill. Why, I assume, you have the eyes you now have.’ She half-sobbed, half-whined at his words, cursing in Bosmeris. He couldn’t help but wince; it saddened him to see a Dragonborn reduced to such a state. ‘Acceptance of your fate will make your life easier. According to our ancestors’ accounts, it did take the mortal Talos some time to do so, but he eventually went on to unite all of Tamriel and found the Empire.’

 

‘ _At the cost of His mortality!_ ’Thuban yelped, her voice tinged with her Thu’um. ‘If you believe _The Arcturian Heresy_ , the man Who would become Talos was born Hjalti Early-Beard on some little island in High Rock. Just one mixed-race Nord out of many, until He discovered His ‘actual’ Pa was none other than fuckin’ Aldu– _krosis_ , Akatosh – and began to Shout all over the place. No-one knew who the motherfucker was, then suddenly, _bam!_ Dragonborn-hood, then _actual godhood–_ ’

 

‘I, ah, don’t think Talos’ achievement of CHIM happened that quickly.’

 

‘Wasn’t my point,’ Thuban yawned, rubbing her eyes. ‘Apologies for the outburst, Arngeir, but I… have a lot of complicated feelings I need to sort through. I haven’t even started catching up on sleep, too, and my journey back to Whiterun is going to take a couple of days, at the very least. I feel like an _actual damn dragon_ may burst out from my skin occasionally, to put the icing on the shit sweetroll.’ Clambering over to her knapsack perched precariously on the edge of the bed, she pulled out her weathered, beaten-up Fourth Era edition of _Myths of Sheogorath_ ; when she was in this kind of bad mood, it was a personal ritual of hers to thumb through books relating to her dear old Mother. That Sithis-shaped hole in Nirn could always provide her with a comforting Presence, and she couldn’t give two shits about what other people thought about it. ‘Oh, and, uh, I’ll clean up the mess before I leave, don’t worry. _Geh_.’

 

Arngeir hobbled to his feet, checking for stray shards of glass caught up in the hem of his robes. ‘Dragonborn – Thuban – you journeyed to Sovngarde, slew Alduin, and saved the world. I believe you have permission to take your time readjusting to it.’ He smiled at her, dipping his head in respect. ‘ _Lok_ , _Thu’um_.’

 

With the Greybeard’s closing of her bedroom door, Thuban was left to her restorative solitude. Cracking open the dog-eared tome in her lap, she sang a bards’ song from Falinesti under her breath. Perhaps Mother would hear her from all the way in New Sheoth and send Her compliments.

 

-

 

Thuban spent the next week in High Hrothgar, and while she appreciated the peaceful tranquility of the monastery, she now understood why Ulfric Stormcloak, fire-eyed and bear-hearted as she’d known him, had chosen to rejoin the world despite being raised here. This was no place for a warrior. While her daily trips down the slopes of the _Monahven_ to hunt for meat and furs provided ample action for her body, her mind yearned to be back in the thick of it in Skyrim, putting arrows between the eyes of whatever fools had deigned to challenge the Dragonborn. Though being elbow-deep in the insides of a wolf she’d just killed was a great distraction from intrusive thoughts whispering to her in Dovahzul, urging her to _jump off the slopes, you are_ dovah _, unfurl your wings, don’t you want to shed this useless_ joor _body and discover what you truly look like_ –

 

 _This is what I ‘truly’ look like_ , she mentally argued with herself. _I am Thuban Swift-Arrow, daughter of Rigel and Ari Swift-Arrow. I am Thuban-Ja-Dar, friend to Ri’saad, Ma’dran and Ahkari, and I should really let those poor cats know I’m alive and well, now that I think of it. I have a mortal life, mortal kin, and mortal concerns at the foot of this mountain, which I refuse to piss away because Aldu– Auri-El bestowed a ‘dragon soul’ upon me._

 

An ailing Klimmek visited the monastery on the seventh day to deliver supplies, accompanied by Gwilin, a Bosmer from Ivarstead who had apparently made the infamous, perilous journey up the Seven Thousand Steps just to catch a glimpse of Thuban. He didn’t say anything to her when he caught her climbing back up to the entrance to High Hrothgar with a few wolf carcasses slung over her back, but he did wave and offer her a thumbs-up and toothy grin.

 

‘Word of your victory over Alduin’s spread throughout Skyrim like magefire,’ Klimmek said, handing over sacks stuffed with medicinal herbs, food and drink, and a handful of reverent offerings for the Old Men of the Mountain. ‘You truly are Ysmir, Dragon of the North. Gods bless you, woman. Gods bless you. Should you return to Ivarstead, I’ll make sure you never have to pay for a drink at the Vilmeyr Inn again.’

 

‘Seeing the revelry that’s been going on since we heard the news, these Nords would let you fuck their wives with them watching, honestly,’ Gwilin quipped from behind him. ‘You may as well be the Tenth Divine to them. Though I can’t say I’m not pleased the end of days isn’t coming after all. Being alive is great.’

 

‘That it is,’ Thuban said absent-mindedly, looking out at the horizon towards Whiterun. She’d left what had become something of an adventuring party there; Anum-La the ‘Swamp Knight’, her stalwart Argonian shield-sister who could drink and fight and snark with the best of them; Rumarin, a cheerful Altmer ‘bladebinder’ who always had funny, if biting, remarks about whatever situations they got themselves into; the Blades, or what was left of them, anyway – after a heated argument with Delphine about her insistence on Thuban killing Paarthurnax, which had involved ample use of Thu’um, she’d brought her and Esbern to heel, allowing her to begin rebuilding the ancient order. Lydia, her housecarl from Whiterun, and Calder, her housecarl from Windhelm, had been the first inductees, followed by Uthgerd the Unbroken, a Companions reject from Whiterun who’d been so surprised that a tiny Bosmer had beaten her in a brawl that she’d pledged her sword to her afterwards. After days of interacting with nobody but the Greybeards (and Klimmek and Gwilin, now, she supposed), it was jarring to remember that she did, in fact, have people who were waiting for her to come home.

 

 _Home?_ That was a difficult question. Skyrim was her father’s home – Legate Ari Swift-Arrow of the Second Bruma Legion, the Hawk of Eastmarch, an Old Clan Nord whose blood ran with the waters of the River Yorgrim. Even after contracting _Porphyric Hemophilia_ and being discharged from the Imperial Legion for vampirism, he’d fled northwards, last seen amongst the dreaded Volkihar vampires up in Haafingar (His reasons for joining them, how far his morality might have fallen in the process, were thoughts Thuban preferred not to think). Ari’s state of undeath aside, she had kin in this land who would happily welcome her should she choose to stay. Balgruuf the Greater in particular had been insistent on her regarding Whiterun as her own city after everything she’d done for it, and the Jarl’s attitude towards her was so friendly, so amiable, that she felt awful not accepting his hospitality.

 

Then again, if she turned her gaze towards the Jeralls, she would be reminded of her _true_ home – Bruma, where’d she’d been born and partially raised. Bruma, where she’d played under the watchful statues of her mother and Saint Martin as an elfling; Bruma, where she’d developed the patchwork Cyrod-Nord accent she still spoke with even today; Bruma, where she’d learnt how to fight from Ari’s fellow soldiers at the local Legion barracks and Rigel’s Blades colleagues up at Cloud Ruler Temple. _Then again_ , the smouldering ruins of what was left of Cloud Ruler after the Thalmor had sacked it were another reminder – that as much as she wanted to go back, she couldn’t. Not after everything that had happened.

 

She’d spent the better part of 201 in _Keizaal_ , becoming acquainted with each of its holds, their unique landscapes and peoples. She’d helped Marcus Albus Tullius, General of the Solitude Third and so-called Gladius of the Emperor, and his right-hand Legate Rikke save it from a brutal civil war that would’ve lasted for years by retaking it for the Empire (though Thuban didn’t enjoy feeling like an instrument of imperialism – her Bosmer family who’d been alive to witness Tiber Septim and the Camoran Usurper’s bloody reigns would not be impressed – but had the Stormcloaks gotten their way, Ulfric would have surely joined that list of warlords). When General Tullius had told her of his plan to retire in Skyrim, he’d complimented Kyne’s temple by musing how its icy harshness whittled a man down to his true self. While Thuban had been no pushover before she crossed the border, this land _had_ shaped her to be stronger, tougher, _better_ , Dragonborn business aside. Perhaps Tullius was right to lay down some roots here, after all. Perhaps she should do the same.

 

‘Shit, sun’s gettin’ real low,’ Klimmek said with a sigh. ‘Dragonborn, do you think the Greybeards would mind if we stayed overnight? I don’t wanna risk goin’ down the Steps at night. Shouldn’t be havin’ wolves and trolls and whatnot on me in my condition.’ He brought a hand to his mouth before he let out a hacking cough, almost for emphasis.

 

‘I told you, you silly man, I should be making your deliveries for you,’ Gwilin said, smirking. ‘Fastred’d be more than happy to help with the larger hauls. She’s been itching to get out of town for a while.’

 

‘Dibella’s tits, I’m not bound for Sovngarde just yet,’ Klimmek chuckled. ‘Anyway, Dragonborn – Dragonborn?’

 

Thuban blinked herself out of her daydreaming. ‘ _Krosis_ , _jul_.’

 

‘Gods, you even _sound_ like a fucking dragon,’ Gwilin said. ‘Klimmek was asking if the Greybeards would mind if we stayed overnight, since the Steps are an even worse journey in the dark.’

 

‘Oh, right,’ Thuban murmured, suddenly aware of the wolves she was hauling over one shoulder. ‘ _Geh_ , it shouldn’t be a problem. I think it’s Middas, anyway; the Old Men will be making their petitions to Mara, so you’ll get a free meal. They wanted me to cook them up some wolf meat for the occasion,’ she said, pointing her thumb at her back.

 

‘Since when did the Greybeards worship Mara?’ Gwilin asked.

 

‘It’s not worship for worship’s sake, so much as asking Her for enough provisions to last ‘till Rain’s Hand,’ Thuban replied. ‘This isn’t the Imperial Mara, anyway. This is Mara Ulvinde, Handmaiden of Kyne. The Atmorans represented Her with a wolf, so I can’t really see her being as lovey-dovey as the Mara they worship in Riften and Bravil.’ She pulled out a Amulet of Mara from under her leathers and presented it to the pair, still warm from her body heat. It was a simple thing, a wooden pendant with the ancient Nord Wolf totem carved into it hanging from twine. ‘The ones they sell at the Riften Benevolence are cheaper, but Maramal’s are the Imperial Cult type, so people’ll think I’m looking for marriage if I wear one around my neck. I just want help with Restoration magic, for goodness’ sake,’ she said with a laugh.

 

‘Well, Mara be praised!’ Klimmek said as he and Gwilin headed inside. ‘I’m fucking starving. Here’s hoping the Greybeards actually made something out of the food folk give ‘em.’

 

‘ _Geh_ , they do. Relax,’ Thuban laughed. Trailing Klimmek and Gwilin through the halls of High Hrothgar to the living quarters, she felt more grounded than she had in days.  
  
-

 

‘ _OD-AH-VIING!_ ’

 

Thuban’s Shout flew into the bitter-cold morning air, and she would swear on the Grahtwood that a stream of magical energy in the shape of snowflakes followed it. The Nords not only disliked, but feared magic and Mer and Merish gods, but the Thu’um, she was sure, was as much a sphere of Magnus as the Five Schools of Magic were. _But wasn’t Auri-El the father of dragons, who use the Thu’um?_ _Fuck it, I need some thistle tea in me. Or Elsweyr coffee, whatever._

 

Odahviing landing in the High Hrothgar courtyard brought her back to reality. The _dovah_ regarded her, armoured to the teeth, carrying her bulging knapsack on her back and her bow and arrow in her hands, and knew what she would ask of him.

 

‘Thurbah, _Thuri_. I have answered your summons. _Bo wah Ahrolsedovah?_ Do you wish to return to your _Bronjun?_ ’

 

Thuban’s ears twitched in confusion. ‘Okay, uh, so, first off, _geh_ , I want a ride back to Whiterun, since travelling the _joor_ way will take me a few days. Second off, I may be a Thane of Whiterun, but I’m not at Balgruuf’s beck and call, thank you! _Third_ off – what in Y’ffre’s name did you call me?’

 

Now Odahviing looked confused. ‘ _Thur-bah_. Overlord-Fury, in your tongue. You are _Dovahkiin_ , egg-sibling to our kind. It is tradition to grant you a name in _Dovahzul_. It is made of only two words, not three, as _Dovahkiin_ are not true _dovah_ and thus not needing of a name one can Shout, but it is how we _dov_ will come to know you.’

 

‘Oh, uh, alright, then,’ Thuban said, bouncing on the soles of her feet to stay warm. ‘Does this name get chosen based on a Dragonborn’s _j_ \- mortal name?’

 

‘ _Geh_ ,’ Odahviing rumbled. ‘Magni Kórisson, first of the _Dovahkiin_ , became Miraak, Allegiance-Guide. Fríđa Grey-Mane, whose children still live in _Ahrolsedovah_ , became Feldraal, Feral-Prayer. Those are the ones that I know of.’ That preternatural sense for the future Thuban had developed since finding out she was Dragonborn, the famous ‘dragon blood’ precognition of the Septim Emperors, lit a nervous, sputtering fire in her belly at Odahviing’s mention of _Mir-Aak_. But why? If this Magni Kórisson had been the ‘first’ Dragonborn, old enough for Odahviing to have recalled him, surely he would be eras dead. The only people from the Merethic Era who could possibly be alive now were dragon priests, who had been raised by Alduin last year during his take-over-the-world scheme. And why did she fear meeting him, this Miraak, if he did yet live? Weren’t Dragonborn supposed to be warrior-heroes who were to be looked up to in Nord tradition?

 

‘ _Dovahkiin_ ,’ Odahviing said, snapping her out of it. ‘I await your answer. Do you wish to fly to _Ahrolsedovah?_ ’

 

_I really do fucking need some coffee. I wonder if Ri’saad’s caravan is in Whiterun today?_

 

‘ _Geh_ ,’ Thuban intoned. ‘ _Amativ_ , _zeymah!_ Kyne’s breath shall bring me back from Vaermina’s realm, if nothing else.’  
  
Odahviing produced what sounded like a laugh as Thuban climbed onto his back. ‘ _Mu bo kotin stinselok_ ,’ he said cheerfully.

 

Yes, into the sky’s freedom, before she became clamped in the chains of duty once again.

 

-  
  
  
' _ _Long has the Stormcrown languished, with no worthy brow to sit upon. By our breath, we bestow it to you now in the name of Kyne, in the name of Shor, and in the name of Atmora of Old. You are Ysmir now, Dragon of the North. Hearken to it.__ '

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thuban's reference to sowing her mouth shut 'like Stuhn did with Orkey's' is inspired by real-life Norse mythology: The trickster god Loki, Who shares a lot of similarities with how Orkey/Arkay is depicted by the Nords in TES, had His mouth sown shut by the dwarf Brok after loosing a bet.
> 
> 'Shor, Kyne and Tsun' I thought would be a fun little Nord version of the real-life 'Jesus, Mary and Joseph'.


	2. Champion

The Temple of the One was a hallowed place, a holy ground of contemplation and meditation, but that didn’t stop the pair from crashing into it in the middle of the night the way Dagon had tore down its walls an era ago.

 

Together they stumbled inside, tall Redguard and short Bosmer, both with bottles of Argonian bloodwine in their free hands; they’d linked arms around their shoulders, and they leaned against each other as they sang the bawdiest song their drunken minds could think of.

 

_Oh, there once was was a woman_

_As fair as an evenin’_

_Of springtime in old Stros M’Kai_ –

 

Dulled from hours of drinking, their tongues stumbled over the next verses. Not that they minded much, or the towering statue of what had been the Avatar of Akatosh protested. He continued His silent, eraless vigil over the City, enveloping the pair in His stone wings as they came closer.

 

‘I’m fuckin’ tellin’ you, Baurus, this thing is _him_ ,’ the Bosmer half-slurred, half-sobbed, Falinesti Bosmeris and Alinor Aldmeris and Gold Coast Cyrod all mixing together in her voice. ‘I saw it! Saw it with my own fuckin’ eyes, I did! He used Chim-El Adabal to turn himself inside-out, then _wham_ , _bam_ , Akatosh! No thank you, ma’am!’ She broke away from the Redguard’s embrace to pour out what was left of her bloodwine at the taloned feet of the God-Emperor, then fell to her knees and offered up a chorus of mourning wails to Him, red stains forming on her oddly multi-coloured silk trousers. At least, they were odd to Baurus. He’d swear on HoonDing’s sword that he recognised them; harsh, jagged lines of gold against a backdrop of red clothed her left leg, and shimmering, delicate, swirling patterns of white against a backdrop of purple clothed her right. Come to think of it, her ( _huh?_ ) sleeved waistcoat bore the same, but on opposite sides. And shit, wasn’t her hair, like, a dark, reddish-brown just a moment ago? Why were her curls all powdered Skooma white now? And oh, Morwha’s arms, _her eyes looked just like Sheo_ –

 

( _Come now,_ whispered a voice in his head that sounded too much like hers, _what are the chances of the completely random drinking buddy you picked up in the Elven Gardens District being the Daedric Prince of Madness Herself? Ha ha ha!_ )

 

‘Hey, boy,’ Rigel murmured, ‘Hey, Baurus. Hey. _Hey_. You gotta come fuckin’ try this shit.’ Stumbling to her feet, the slip of a mer stood on the tips of her toes and lovingly reached for the Avatar’s stone chest with a silk-gloved hand, splaying her palm across where His heart might be.

 

 _Get thee gone, daedroth_ , a voice of disapproval intoned in _her_ head. Not the sweet, rich, Mannish tones of her Martin, but a more ancient, booming, Merish presence, one that conjured up images of the golden god of Time Who she’d worshipped when she still walked Nirn as a mortal. _The blessing of Auri-El does not extend to the children of Oblivion._

 

 _Alright, you can fuck off now, Anu, you old codger_ , Sheogorath hissed in response, a frown of disapproval marring Her face. _Our host simply wishes to speak to Their dearest friend! Isn’t that right, My love?_

 

 _Yes, Sheo, it is_ , Rigel said softly. _O Dragon-God, Brother of Y’ffre, Spinner of Time, I ask that you grant me a visage of my beloved Septim–_

 

 _The blessing of Auri-El does not extend to the children of Oblivion_ , the voice intoned again.

 

 _For My sake, Akatosh, You’re creation’s ultimate square_ , Sheogorath grumbled. _Can’t even bend the rules a tad so a mourning Champion can meet Their Emperor! I dare say, my draconic sir, that you lost your spark when Lorkhan had you rip His heart out! That He ripped yours out in return! What else did you loose while dancing to the beat of the Doom-Drum, I wonder? Your mind? Your body? Your soul? Those enchanted Boots of Waterwalking you always did have on you Before?_ She fell to Her knees again, sliding against the Avatar’s stone legs, Her silent tears sliding down Her cheeks in much the same way. _I’d say You’re even worse than old Jyggalag, but at least He is honest about His intentions, you winged fiend! ‘O Auri-El, O Anu, Soul of Everything–_ ’ _What a load of codswallop! What a load of off-smelling cheese! Perhaps to separate Chaos from Order was a rotten idea after all; perhaps, I shouldn’t have stuffed Myself into this wee Shezzarine body. Then pairs of star-crossed lovers could’ve make their scenes and all would be right with this kalpa._ She leaned against the base of the statue, taking in deep gulps of breath in-between Her sobbing. _It’s a damn good thing that They found Themselves a mortal husband, or Her lamentations for his look-alike would’ve lasted an era, I tell you. So, My dear, sweet, square hole to My round peg, don’t be expecting any help from Me when Your wayward goldskin children come to remove the Et’Ada legs from underneath this table of Lorkhan’s! Your latest mortal creation –_ Our _babe, might I add,_ Our _dragon in miniature, for she was nurtured in My womb and nursed upon My throne – did a fantastic job cleaning up of the mess Your eldest made over in Skyrim, I do admit, but do you honestly believe one tiny, puny, insignificant little Dragonborn will be able to stand against Aldmeris come again, let alone the machinations of Molag’s blood-suckers, or Your demigod son who failed? Hah! And I thought_ I _was the Prince of Madness! You get nothing! You_ loose! _Good_ day, _sir!_

 

Baurus ran a hand through his wiry black hair. ‘Er, Rige?’ he asked, taking a swig from his bottle. ‘You okay there? Gods, for a second I thought you–’

 

‘S’nothin’,’ Rigel slurred, blinking through tears to look up at him and smile. ‘Just havin’ myself a good cry. Y’know, Ari, my blessed hawk, my mighty Shor, maybe you were right… Kyne’s been doin’ a lot better for Herself since she started makin’ it rain. O warrior-husband, come back to me...’

 

‘Aw, shit, don’t tell me you have a long-lost love, too,’ Baurus said with a laugh. ‘Escaped some kinda end-o’-the-world cult, used to be a super-secret spy, speakin’, what, _three_ languages fluently? Ruptga’s wives – simultaneously leadin’ the Fighters’ Guild, Thieves’ Guild, Mages’ Guild _and_ the Dark Brotherhood at one point, which I think sounds like a loada camelshit, really… you’re a fuckin’ cliché from a story, elf.’

 

Rigel cocked her head to the side and laughed as well. ‘Tamriel is but a dream and we are but characters in Its storybook, my son!’ For a brief moment, Baurus’ mind saw through the mists weaved around it by Sanguine and remembered those same words had been uttered by an androgynous, near-naked Dunmer he’d met at Luther Broad’s over New Life who’d claimed to be Vivec reborn. While he knew the rational explanation was that s’wit, like Rigel, had been so deep in his cups he was swimming in them, a small voice in the back of his head murmured _you have no idea what you’re getting yourself into, Baurus ibn-Cepheus; you’ve gotten yourself lost in the Alik'r of the gods’ machinations and there’s no turning back_. _Didn’t your mother tell you to come back from all this drinking and gambling on Arena matches?_ _Look at what ruin it’s brought you! Your House’s fortunes wasted, and now a Daedric Prince wants to stick Her fingers in your pie! Get out of that drunken haze and_ listen to me–

 

‘Excuse me?’ a quiet, unassuming voice asked from the entrance to the Temple. ‘Delivery for Rigel Swift-Arrow. Didn’t she come in here earlier?’

 

 _Fucking couriers, man_ , Baurus mused.

 

‘Uh, yeah, that’s her over there.’

 

‘Excellent.’

 

Into the light of the moons stepped a small, average-looking Breton man who rummaged through his birch-bark knapsack to produce a flimsy, average-looking letter. Baurus had a sinking feeling that neither were average, and he was baring witness to a scene set up by Tall Papa Himself that could change the course of Nirn. Or maybe it was the shots of sujamma he’d downed earlier. Hey, he didn’t fucking know.

 

‘Got paid a hefty sum of septims to take this straight to you from Markarth,’ the Breton said, perching to look at Rigel in the eye. ‘The woman who handed it to me didn’t say anything about who she was, just that she was an ‘old friend’ of yours.’ He offered her the letter and a smile and said, ‘Don’t worry, I don’t rifle through my patron’s letters. Just thought I should mention that, since this woman was treating this like war intel, so it must be something important to the both of you.’

 

‘Ah, alright,’ Rigel murmured, opening the letter with shaking hands. ‘Thank you, my dear.’

 

‘Anything for the Champion of Cyrodiil,’ the Breton said, smiling. He got up and began strolling back to the doors of the Temple, but stopped halfway to turn to her before he left. ‘Also, while that’s a great imitation of the Madgod, Champion, you might want to wait until His summoning day to play dress-up like that.’

 

 _Why, I ought to string you up by your eyeballs and display you in Passwall for such_ disrespect _–_ Sheogorath fumed, cut off by Rigel. _At ease, My precious, the mortal does not know the truth about Us. Now toddle off and let Me read this letter the nice Breton gave Me._

 

_You know I can’t ‘toddle off’, silly, for I am You, and You are Me!_

 

_Why did I agree to become You, again?_

 

_Because you were His personal errand girl and had nary a say in the matter, eheheheh–_

 

 _Enough!_ _This is why I let Martin destroy Your bloody Wabbajack last era, I swear._

 

Sitting up, Rigel crossed her wine-stained legs and leaned against the Avatar of Akatosh whilst she read through the familiar, pin-straight writing before her.

 

_Grandmaster Rigel –_

 

_I hope this reaches you without much trouble; the Thalmor have been doubling their patrols along the Skyrim border since Sun’s Dawn, and trying to send anything through to you or any other remaining Blades has been a strenuous affair. Still, with the party I’ve been having up here in the Land of Ice and Snow, maybe the Divines Themselves have blessed our Order with good fortune after decades of strife, so I’m in a good mood. There’s a lot to get through, so make yourself a cup of that ‘jagga’ you like and get comfortable._

 

_Firstly – Esbern is alive. He was hiding in the bowels of Riften, as I suspected, and while the old coot looks and sounds like he’s been ‘blessed’ by Namira, he’s alive, he’s well, and he’s returned to active duty by my side. In case this letter is compromised, I won’t mention our current base of operations here in Skyrim, but I will tell you that it’s deep in the foothills of the Reach, so far into Forsworn territory that Justiciar Ondolemar ought to piss in his robes if he even thinks about sending a search party after us. For now, the Blades still live. May Saint Martin smite whoever tries to finishes us off._

 

_Secondly – Your daughter, Thuban, is the Last Dragonborn. Not just any Dragonborn, but the very One prophesied by our Akaviri ancestors, the One who Grandmaster Takeshi bent the knee to Reman Cyrodiil in hopes of searching for hundreds of years ago. I don’t know what you did to piss off Fate, Hero of Kvatch, but you and yours seem to be in its stranglehold, and for that, I offer my sympathies. Still, wyrd is wyrd, as the Nords say up here, so I made sure Esbern and I were able to help her complete her destiny and destroy Alduin, you know the Prophecy (I hear she actually did the deed, just last week. See what I mean by a party?). While Thuban’s got a bit of a mouth, she’s as courageous and formidable as I know you to be, Grandmaster – as your Ari once was, I recall – so thank Talos, the Thalmor didn’t strip the backbone from her when they held her in their perfectly-manicured clutches during the Great War. I always wondered why they were so desperate to capture a young half-elf who didn’t deserve to ‘pay’ for the ‘sins’ of her mother, but perhaps they knew then what we did not until recently. Regardless, Thuban has slipped into the role of Shezzarine with relative ease, and the people of Skyrim fucking love her for it. See, I was raised on the stories about you, about the Nerevarine and the Eternal Champion and so on, those reality-defying Heroes who always come to help Nirn when it needs them most, but I never thought I’d see a Hero in action with my own eyes. Gods bless._

 

_Lastly – We’re rebuilding our ranks. How many of our Knight-Brothers and Knight-Sisters were executed by the Thalmor in the wake of the Great War? Gods, I think I’d loose count if I tried to drum up the numbers. Titus Mede II, that wretched traitor (may the Nine curse him), has yet to offer our kin recompense for leaving us to die by the cross and the flames and the sword – forgive me, Grandmaster, but I still have nightmares, still see faces attached to names who I’m not sure survived the sacking of Cloud Ruler… Mara, teach me temperance, for I would plunge my katana into a thousand thousand Thalmor in retribution without You. Anyway, apologies. Thuban has pledged the ‘housecarls’ she’s acquired here in Skyrim to the Order, in addition to a Nord shieldmaiden from Whiterun, Uthgerd ‘the Unbroken’, who she apparently gained the loyalty of after defeating her in a brawl (Arkay save me from Skyrim’s children, much as I’ve grown to like them). They’re not trained in the Akaviri martial arts, and neither Esbern or I are young enough or strong enough to teach them, but they’re good fighters, so at this moment, they’ll do. Like Grandmaster Akira said, you kill one dragon, ten more will take its place; in these trying times, we need every pair of able, sword-holding hands we can get. Between the dragons and the brewing Second Great War, I feel the Blades are going to be occupied for a long while._

 

_Also, Ari is alive. Undead. I don’t know how to put it. I had a feeling you wouldn’t haul arse to Skyrim to help us out without some extra persuasion (though I don’t blame you for not wanting to potentially run into a squad of Thalmor thugs), so there you are. He was last spotted in the thick of a Volkihar attack on Solitude, leading the charge. Please come and collect your husband, because no matter what he’s become, I would be disappointed to see the fabled ‘Hawk of Eastmarch’ fall to a stray bolt from some knock-kneed Vigilant’s crossbow._

 

_Yours,_

 

_Delphine_

 

-

 

‘Thank you for this, Erikur,’ Elenwen purred, taking her gaze off of the letter she held between her hands to smirk at the stout Nord man in her solar doorway. ‘Thank you very much indeed. The Thalmor will reward you generously for your cooperation.’

 

‘It was nothing, my dear,’ Erikur said, chest puffed out, like a child desperate for attention from a parent. ‘I simply had one of my own couriers intercept Delphine’s in the Pale Pass, and, ah, _convince_ them to create a copy of her correspondence with the Grandmaster. ‘Can’t be too careful these days with the post, you know, what with the end of the world and such.’ Hah! What a fucking idiot.’ He lounged against Elenwen’s doorframe in a lazy, fat-cat manner, regarding the Aldmeri Dominion’s High Ambassador to Skyrim with an almost pleading look. ‘You know, I did deliver this to you myself in hopes of seeing a glimpse of those septims you promised me, ma’am.’

 

Mara’s mercy, humans were so base. Were simple desires like coin all they cared for? ‘Yes, of course, expect wads of the things on your desk in Solitude by tomorrow morn,’ Elenwen sighed. She wanted this oaf out of her sight, but she considered herself a genteel womer, so decided to use this opportunity to teach a member of the lesser races some wisdom. ‘My dear Erikur, cooperation with the Thalmor should not be about the gold it can make you, but because it is the right thing to do. The Aldmeri Dominion simply wants the Empire and its territories to uphold the terms of the White-Gold Concordant. Don’t you want peace in our time, my Thane?’

 

‘Yeah, yeah, Dibella’s tits, of course I do,’ Erikur grumbled, folding one arm over the other. ‘So long as my finances are untouched and those damn dragons and vampires and shit stay out of my holdings in Haafingar, I couldn’t care less.’

 

Elenwen folded the letter up and placed it on the side-table beside her sofa. She poured herself a glass of Shimmerine white with one hand and dismissed Erikur with another. ‘Very well. Now be a dear and pop off, hmm? The weather forecast said there would be a snowstorm this afternoon,’ she said with pursed lips. ‘Wouldn’t want you or your entourage to be caught up in such horrid conditions.’ _Auri-El willing, his carriage is overturned and falls down the hillside to Dragon Bridge._ _One less Nord nuisance to deal with, even if he is a good little servant_.

 

‘Uh, yeah, shoot, forgot about that. By your leave, Madam Ambassador.’

 

And with that, the door to her solar was closed for the first time that Fredas. Justiciars and guards and soldiers and spies alike had all come in and out throughout the morning up until lunch, dropping off enough intel to keep her busy for the rest of the Fourth Era. _A_ _edra_ , she wished the awful Haafingar weather would clear up soon – being confined to this damnable Embassy was so unbecoming of a womer of her status. She sometimes pondered if Justiciar Talisse had assigned her to this gods-forsaken part of the Empire just to spite her, because _she_ had been a great and powerful military general who’d earned top honours during the Oblivion Crisis and Talisse hadn’t. No matter. She was in Skyrim, as much as she didn’t want to be, and would thus have to make the most out of her situation. More pressing things required her attention, anyway…

 

 _Rigel_. That cursed name could only pass through her lips in a hateful snarl, despite Elenwen’s grief at all her former friend and colleague had done over the past couple centuries. It seemed the Bosmer’s tendency to get into trouble had been passed down to her daughter, for Thuban Swift-Arrow, the so-called ‘Dragonborn’, was as much a thorn in her side as her mother had been during those last days in Alinor. Elenwen wondered where the Thalmor might be now had Rigel not insisted on ‘fleeing’ to the Tamrielic mainland from what she’d described as a ‘death cult’ ( _and yet from what I hear, she became involved in Daedra worship, Skooma usage and thievery over in Cyrodiil_ , Elenwen thought with a sniff). She respected her Bosmeri brothers and sisters among the Thalmor, but truly, they _were_ a rung below her own people, debasing their Aedric heritage with their disgusting ritual cannibalism and their Wild Hunts and their silly, superstitious belief in the earth itself punishing them if they dared to use plant matter from their precious Valenwood jungles. She didn’t dare think about how many good mer and womer had fallen prey to Swift-Arrow along Skyrim’s roads; Aedra’s mercy, did she _really_ have to eat every enemy she killed? Altmer did not deserve to end up as waste on foreign soils. _Ugh, gods_ _preserve me._

 

And now her traitor mother would probably be joining her in this awful frost-bitten land, which meant even more incidents like Northwatch Keep and that fateful night at the Embassy, where Thuban slew countless Justiciars and guards just to steal some paltry dossiers regarding (Elenwen hoped) the last members of the Blades. Oh, Aedra, if the rumours about Rigel mantling Sheogorath, the Daedric Prince of Madness, were true… Elenwen didn’t want to spare a single thought about it. One damned ‘demigod’ was enough to deal with –

 

‘Never should have come here!’ a voice she recognised as Lieutenant of the Guard Iriel’s yelled outside, muffled by the thick walls of her solar. _Oh, goodness, what is it_ now? _Please don’t be another vampire attack_ , Elenwen thought, shuddering at the memory of having to fight off a horde of ‘Volkihar’ wretches who’d decided that her mer and womer were their own personal blood bags that night. _Prepare yourself_. She began murmuring the incantation to produce flames in one’s hands, just in case.

 

A flurry of armoured footsteps and shouting followed by the clashing of swords and exchange of Destruction spells drew closer to her doorstep than she’d like. Was some fool attempting to break in here? _Come, then. Come and face a Thalmor Justiciar._

 

A sickening _thud_ against the door and the sound of a dead body sliding down to the ground rang out, and then silence. Could Elenwen dare risk going outside? Reaching into her robes to clasp her Amulet of Auri-El, she muttered a prayer for protection before confronting whatever, or whoever, waited beyond the threshold.

 

Snowflakes and a howling wind came whipping through the doorway no sooner did she open it, pushing poor Iriel to the side. _Aedra’s mercy_. Several guards lay dead in the courtyard, their blood staining the fresh white snow at her feet. And hanging from one of her solar windows, a note held in place by a suspiciously Daedric-looking arrow. Trudging through the snow to get a better look at it, Elenwen almost collapsed in terrified surprise when she noticed whose handwriting it was in.

 

_E –_

 

_Don’t take my stuff. Or fuck with my daughter, either.  
_

 

– _R_


	3. Arrival to Whiterun

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rumarin and Anum-La the Swamp Knight come from the fantastic Interesting NPCs mod :)

Perhaps returning to Whiterun in the morning was a bad idea after all.

 

Much to Thuban’s chagrin, Odahviing insisted on announcing their presence with a loud, clear Thu’um: ‘ _Alduin mahlaan! Dovahkiin os lok dovahkriid!_ ’ that rang through the plains for everyone to hear. Just to make things more embarrassing, a couple of other dragons descended from the clouds to circle Dragonsreach, joining in on Odahviing’s repeat of the ( _could it be called that?_ ) singing she’d heard before, up on the _Monahven_.

 

Attempting to distract herself, Thuban looked down at the activity caused by man, mer and beast outside the Whiterun city gates; ah, so Ri’saad’s caravan _was_ in the hold today. _Brit_. A bright spot amidst bad weather and an even worse headache caused by Odahviing’s Shouting. She’d have to go get some coffee and Moon Sugar (for taste, of course) from him once she was finished being inevitably man/mer-handled by citizens, Companions and guards alike. There would be no escaping a welcome now.

 

‘Stand down, men, it’s not what you think,’ she heard Irileth shout as Odahviing descended into the Dragonsreach courtyard. ‘The Dragonborn is on its back! I said, bows _down!_ Nerevar save me, are you even _listening?_ ’

 

‘But what if she can’t control it?’ a guardsman shouted back, keeping his bow drawn. ‘I still think it was a mistake to – _ahhh!_ ’

 

The wind from Odahviing landing on the cobblestone of the courtyard sent the poor bugger flying, and Thuban couldn’t help but cringe as he slammed into the walls behind him. ‘Gods, it’s got large wings,’ he grunted, stumbling to his feet. ‘I dunno how the fuck King One-Eye got one of ‘em in here, it’s fucking _huge_.’

 

‘The myths of old remain a mystery to this day, son,’ Balgruuf chuckled. ‘But that is not what’s important, right now.’ Leisurely jogging up to Thuban, he pulled her off of Odahviing’s neck and into an enveloping embrace. ‘Dragonborn – _Thuban_ – welcome home,’ he said warmly, her nose hit with the strong smell of leather and furs and whatever woodsy herbs the Jarl used to make himself smell decent.

 

‘Er, thank you, my Jarl,’ was all Thuban could manage to say, her face pressed against Balgruuf’s chest. Why did Nords have to be so tall? ‘This is… unexpected–’

 

‘Nonsense, my girl. We thought you dead and gone until those overgrown lizards up there started yelling about your victory,’ Irileth said, a smile of relief on her face. She reached out to hug Thuban as well, the womer thankfully closer to her in height, thus making it less awkward. More leather and furs, with the extra scent of… bonfire smoke? Thuban couldn’t quite place it, but it smelt like Irileth had fire coming from her skin. _Probably just used that famous ‘Ancestor’s Wrath’ spell_.

 

 

‘I still can’t believe you actually did it,’ Hrogar breathed in awe. ‘You are Ysmir, Dragon of the North! By the gods... it is an honour to be in Your presence.’

 

‘Whoa, whoa, whoa, I haven’t mantled Him just yet, Hrogar,’ Thuban said with a laugh. ‘The Old Men may call me that, but all I’ve done is – nevermind,’ she sighed. ‘Is everyone...’

 

‘Awaiting your arrival, yes,’ Balgruuf said, winking at her before indicating at the doors to the palace.

 

Odahviing brushed the tip of his snout against Thuban’s back, an oddly intimate gesture that confused her. ‘It appears you are in good claws, _Thuri_. _Diiv bo amativ_ – Tiidmiinaal, Peytqahviin and I shall leave your _joorre_ city at peace, for it appears they do not agree with our Thu’um.’

 

‘Wait, who?’ Thuban asked, even more confused. ‘Are those the dragons I saw up there?’ She pointed her thumb skywards.

 

‘ _Geh_ ,’ Odahviing confirmed. ‘However, I suspect Tiidmiinaal will wish to speak with you when she is able. _Wuth Briinah_ cannot abide chaos in the currents of Time, and you, _Dovahkiin_ , are a wellspring of much discord.’

 

Thuban slapped her forehead with her palm and dragged it down her face, half-sighing, half-laughing. ‘Fuck’s sake, what am I doing wrong here? Do I fulfil prophecy, or don’t I? Please give it to me straight, because I’m getting tired of feeling like _Bormahu_ doesn’t quite approve of what I’m doing.’

 

Odahviing let out a laugh, a sonorous rumble that rattled the stones of Dragonsreach. Some guards reached for their swords, but Irileth motioned for them to relax. ‘At ease, _Dovahkiin_ , _Thuri!_ _Wuth Briinah_ is a _jill_ ; _Bormahu_ ’s Minute-Menders are simply very particular about Time, more so than us _dov_. Do not let it trouble you so.’ Turning his great form around, he prepared to fly. ‘I shall take my leave, _joorre_. Strong winds and clear skies, _Dovahkiin_.’ and so her _zeymah_ took off into Kyne’s realm once again, roaring as he stretched his wings against the morning sun.

 

‘I’ll be telling my grandkids about this, that’s for sure,’ a guard remarked in hushed awe.

 

‘Indeed,’ Balgruuf said, smiling. ‘Now, Thuban, if you’re ready, the people of Whiterun wish to welcome you back.’

 

-

 

‘Hail, Dragonborn! Hail, Thuban Swift-Arrow!’

 

A line of Blades saluted Thuban as she entered Dragonsreach proper, standing at attention and raising their katanas to make an arch for her to walk through. Among their faces, she recognised Lydia, Calder and Uthgerd, but there were a lot of new recruits she didn’t know. Delphine had clearly been busy over the past week and a half.

 

 _Dagný’s gonna like that_ , she thought, reflecting on their usage of her honour-name. An officially recognised Dragonborn, the ‘Last Dragonborn’ no less, coming from one of the Old Clans? The dwindling number of tribes in the Old Holds who still held on to Atmoran religion, customs and culture would take it as a sign from Kyne and Shor Themselves that _they_ , not the Stormcloaks and their Imperial god-worshipping supporters, were the ‘true’ children of Skyrim. Oh, even now, Thuban could see her cousin (it was odd to consider herself as such, since she was a young woman by Merish aging and the Chieftain of Clan Swift-Arrow, an ancient crone by Mannish standards) using her for political purposes when she was next in Windhelm. She slightly dreaded returning to Brunwulf’s court; gods, did he have a load of bearshit to sort through. Maybe, her defeat of Alduin would stop Nords from fighting Nords long enough to realise the futility of it all with the Thalmor breathing down the Empire’s neck.

 

‘A girl could get used to this, Delphine,’ she offered the middle-aged Breton as a greeting, her lips stretched into a smirk. ‘Trying to mould me into Tiber Septim II, are you?’

 

‘Gods, no,’ Delphine replied, squeezing her shoulder and smiling at her in relief, as with Irileth. ‘You’ve just saved the whole damn world. You deserve a little respect, Dragonborn. A little reverence.’

 

‘Hey, I had help,’ Thuban protested. ‘Hakon One-Eye, Gormlaith Golden-Hilt, Felldir the Old – y’know, those _legendary heroes_ who actually banished Alduin the first time? Sorry, it’s just… the World-Eater was as awe-ful up close as the stories say. I couldn’t have defeated Him without assistance from the halls of Sovngarde.’ Sighing, she wrapped her arms around Delphine, something she didn’t imagine her doing with the elder Blade even weeks ago. _Well, you did go to the land of the dead and back_. ‘Who’s the new blood?’

 

‘A few former Forsworn; seems your breakout of their King Madanach from Cindha Mine made some of them leave one group of renegades to join another,’ Delphine said with a chuckle, not returning Thuban’s embrace, but accepting it nonetheless. ‘Ralof, a Stormcloak from Riverwood who said he knows you – you two apparently escaped Helgen’s destruction together?’ Thuban’s eyes widened, and she turned around to see a familiar tall, blonde Nord wave at her from nearby. ‘Even the Legion has its deserters for you – that’s Fasendil, over there.’ A stocky Altmer who Thuban now remembered seeing at Legate Rikke’s camp in the Rift grinned at her like she was a Divine revelation. ‘Also, a _lot_ of people from County Bruma down in Cyrodiil. I think you know why.’ Thuban did know why. She was Bruman herself, and the destruction of Cloud Ruler Temple was still raw and aching in her mind. ‘I suppose the, ahem, special occasion has had Jarl Balgruuf made an exception for us. General Tullius isn’t going to be too pleased with him acknowledging the existence of the Blades.’

 

‘How so?’ Thuban asked, cocking her head to the side in confusion. ‘The most you’ve gotten up to since I first met you and Esbern last year has been acting as my personal maids-cum-pack mules. No offence.’

 

‘None taken, Dragonborn. Your… crude language… aside, it is true that the Blades should be no cause for concern for neither the Emperor or his Gladius,’ Esbern piped up, leaning against a cane for support as he stood up from a nearby bench and hobbled over to join Thuban, smiling at her wearily. ‘However – and I’m sorry I have to be the bearer of this news, given your dislike of great responsibility, but – as Dragonborn, you are a claimant of the Ruby Throne by blood alone. The Dragonfires may no longer need to be lit thanks to Saint Martin’s sacrifice, but dragon-blooded Emperors are as much a Cyrodiilic tradition now as stealing other peoples’ gods and lands. Titus Mede will see you as a challenger to his rule.’

 

‘I probably should have let the Dark Brotherhood assassinate him or something, then, instead of fucking up that Sanctuary in Falkreath,’ Thuban laughed.

 

‘Probably,’ Esbern intoned, and Thuban was a little concerned at how serious his agreement with her off-hand quip was. ‘It is only a matter of time before either the Empire or the Aldmeri Dominion begin a second Great War with each other. There is too much tension; Tamriel is like a wound coil, and it whether it springs sooner or later, it is going to come loose. A Dragonborn Empress sanctified by a new covenant with the Divines will make for a much better leader of the Empire in such trying times than the son of a jumped-up Colovian warlord.’

 

‘Y’ffre’s bones.’ Thuban covered her face with her hands, dipping her head in frustration. ‘Delphine, you lying salad-eater, you told me you guys weren’t trying to mould me into Tiber Septim II.’

 

‘Ignore Esbern,’ Delphine said, rolling her eyes. ‘He’s been hitting the mead hard since news of what happened in Sovngarde came our way. We all have, to be honest with you. Dibella Herself would blush at the revelry.’ That earned a few bouts of laughter from rank-and-file Blades. ‘Now, if I’m not mistaking that expression from Jarl Balgruuf, I believe he wants to have a word with you, Thane Thuban.’

 

 _Ah, here we go_ . The fun clause to being a Thane, her father had taught her, was that your Jarl’s concerns became yours, thus their politics did, too. After his brother Junaar found out in their youth that being Thane of Eastmarch was more than just a fancy title to brag about over at Candlehearth , Ari had resigned to not touch ing the Palace of the Kings with a ten-foot pole. The honour that came with the title of Thane was always accompanied by the obligation of participating in the mundane bureaucracy that came with managing a Hold. While regular attendance at c ourt was n’t mandatory, you _did_ have to show up once in a while. The True and Honourable Nord part of Thuban wanted to slap herself for finding being the Tsun to a Jarl’s Shor a chore, but she _really fucking hated_ politics.

 

‘Relax, Dragonborn, I’m not here to drag you off to the Stallion-Throne,’ Balgruuf chuckled. ‘In fact, I was going to ask you a question about your business later this evening.’

 

‘Hmm?’

 

‘What say you to a public feast at Jorrvaskr held in honour of Alduin’s defeat? The Companions want to celebrate the most glorious deed done by any hero this era, and, well, by Ysmir, I’m going to give them permission to do so.’

 

Now, if all of a Thane’s duties were like this, Thuban would be a happy woman.

 

‘I _am_ part-Nord, Balgruuf,’ she said with a smirk. ‘Of course.’

 

-

 

Masser and Secuda hung over the rooftops of Whiterun, their light mixing with the flames from bonfires constructed across the city. The doors to the great mead hall of Jorrvaskr played host to an endless sea of people going in and out, all drinking, dancing and celebrating, making the most of the glorious occasion. Bards had arrived from throughout the Hold for one of the best opportunities for them to earn some coin since the revival of Solitude’s Burning of King Olaf Festival, a chorus of singing and instruments reverberating off of Whiterun’s towering wooden walls. And at the centre of it all, Thuban reunited with two friends who she’d thought she might never see again.

 

‘You know, you didn’t just do the world a service, you did Alduin one, too,’ Rumarin tipsily mused, running a finger around the rim of his cup of mead. ‘’cause from what I hear, the world’s rotten to the core, so you saved the poor Bastard from having to eat it. If that’s what He was meant to do, anyway. I distinctly remember Him not being big enough to shove the whole of Nirn in his mouth when we beat the shit out of Him on top of that mountain with the shouty old men on it... I forget their names. I bet that ‘World-Eater’ thing is totally just a metaphor, knowing Nord mythology. Either way, He _did_ say He wanted to destroy the world, so it’s a good thing you went to go stop Him.’ He reached over to Thuban and pulled her closer, leaning her head against his shoulder. ‘Glad to have you back, by the way.’

 

‘Glad to be back,’ Thuban said softly. Sighing, she nuzzled his shoulder, herself a touch drunk from a local Honningbrew mixture.

 

‘It must have been a great battle,’ Anum-La said next to her, eyes glittering in the firelight. ‘I wish I could’ve been by your side.’

 

‘I wish for that too, shield-sister,’ Thuban murmured, smiling warmly at her.

 

‘Aww, shucks,’ Anum-La giggled. ‘I still haven’t gotten used to these Nord terms of endearment. I don’t think Arnwulf ever used ‘shield-brother’ or ‘shield-sister’ to refer to the folk in my Company back in Black Marsh; Dalum-Ei probably would’ve loved it, though. He was all about the poetry of being a warrior.’

 

‘A bard in all but name, eh?’ Thuban asked. Anum-La giggled again, clinking her cup with hers.

 

‘To victory.’

 

‘Yes… to victory.’

 

‘Victory is ours!’ Rumarin cut in, clinking his own cup with Anum-La’s and Thuban’s. ‘I’ve always wanted to say that,’ he said with a grin.

 

Thuban sighed, swinging her legs from their perch on top of the walls separating the Wind District from the Cloud District. Looking over to Jorrvaskr, Ysgramor’s overturned ship now bursting at the planks with people, her brows knit in confusion when she saw a beefy Orsimer head out of its doors with a graceful, swanlike Altmer on his arm. Not that a mer enjoying the night’s festivities with a lady friend was confusing, but the lady friend herself. She appeared to be Altmer, but there was something about her that Thuban couldn’t place. Her golden skin shone with a glow of immortality to make the Thalmor salivate, and her bronze eyes sparkled like the embers of the Skyforge. There was more to her than she let on.

 

‘Oh, goodness, you really do have to tell me about this raid on the Morthal vampires sometime, Durak,’ the Altmer said, gazing at her Orsimer companion with delight. ‘It sounds like it was quite the adventure!’

 

‘Sure was, Tandare,’ Durak said, smirking, giving a full frontal view of his tusks. ‘The folks who died at the Hall of the Vigilant can certainly rest easy in Aetherius after that little, ah, roaring rampage of revenge of ours. Stendarr willing, the beasts never deign to attack our Order in such a manner again.’ Then he closed his eyes in contemplation, any trace of a smirk gone from his face. ‘I hope they won’t come for the Dawnguard like that.’

 

‘How goes the recruitment drive, by the way?’ Tandare asked, taking a sip of Honningbrew mead. ‘I know Isran isn’t the friendliest fellow...’

 

‘Eh, it’s early days,’ Durak said. ‘Been getting a loada folks from down Riften way. Riftmen appear to be quite surprised about their Hold having history outside of being a thieves’ paradise, poor sods. Pulled some strings in Largashbur to get the Chief to send some of his prize warriors, so it won’t just be newly-blooded whelps greeting me when I get back to Dayspring.’

 

‘Good to know,’ Tandare said, her tone more serious. ‘The Volkihar are stirring from their eras of isolation. They wish to end the ‘Tyranny of the Sun’, but I’ll be damned to Oblivion if let those wretched spawn of Molag Bal take this world from me–’ she stopped mid-sentence upon catching sight of Thuban, offering her a warm smile. ‘Greetings, Dragonborn! And Auri-El bless. It is a pleasure to meet you at last.’

 

Odahviing’s parting words rang in Thuban’s mind. _I suspect Tiidmiinaal will wish to speak with you when she is able. Wuth Briinah cannot abide chaos in the currents of Time, and you, Dovahkiin, are a wellspring of much discord_ . Somehow, some way, the _jill_ who had been circling above Dragonsreach just that morning was now in a mortal body, seemingly on a date with an Orsimer Vigilant of Stendarr, based on what Thuban had overheard. She wondered if this Durak knew he had an immortal child of Auri-El next to him, and how much of a _blessing_ from the Father of Mundus it was –

 

‘Uh, thank you,’ Thuban murmured. ‘It’s just Thuban, thanks,’ she said with a tired half-grin.

 

‘Nonsense, my girl,’ Tandare intoned, and oh, shit, she wasn’t wrong about her actually being a _dovah_ – _jill_ – she could almost _see_ her true draconic form behind her eyes. Thuban gulped out of nervous instinct. ‘After your defeat of Alduin World-Eater, you will never be ‘just Thuban’ again. Bask in it, I say! Like when Hjalti Stormcrown became Emperor Tiber Septim!’

 

‘Aedra’s sake, why does everyone want her to be like Him?’ Rumarin asked, jabbing a finger at the nearby shrine to Talos. He rubbed Thuban’s arm almost lovingly. ‘Can’t a Dragonborn retire from this whole Shezzarine business, like, find a nice spouse, adopt some children and settle down in a fancy place in the countryside and not have to worry about taking care of all of Tamriel?’ Realising what he’d implied, he shook his head and chuckled. ‘Oh, and, uh, by the way, I didn’t just propose to you there, Thuban. Marriage and kids and whatnot would get in the way of our rather nice adventuring arrangement. Not that I don’t find you attract– oh, Aedra, forget it. Mead really loosens the tongue.’

 

‘That it does,’ Tandare said, amused. ‘Anyway, Dragonborn, it’s a good thing I found you, since I wanted to introduce you to this fine orc here.’ Durak blushed at her words, brushing them away sheepishly. ‘This is Durak of Largashbur, and he’d like to join you up with the Dawnguard.’

 

‘Gods, womer, she _does_ have a choice in the matter,’ Durak chuckled. ‘But, yes, Dragonborn, we’ve thought of having you with us since old Isran performed the only resurrection Arkay might approve of. Bring these friends of yours with you, too; I’ve heard many a tale about their own prowess in combat. They’d be a great boon against the Volkihar.’ Turning to Anum-La, he smirked again and winked. ‘Swamp Knight.’

 

‘Ooh la la, Anu, looks like you have an admirer,’ Rumarin said. Letting out a mock cough, he continued, ‘My good-looking, chiselled, vampire-hunting Orcish sir, you do us too much honour. We’re just a rag-tag band of adventurers, who, er, yeah, do happen to be the only people other than those ‘legendary heroes’ Thuban’s talked about to have fought Alduin and not died, and, uh – oh, sod it. We’ll take the job,’ he confirmed, eyes glimmering with anticipation. ‘If our glorious leader says yes, of course.’

 

 _Take the Orsimer up on his offer, Jephre-child_ , a sonorous, trilling voice echoed in Thuban’s ears. Meridia. She’d been wondering when the Glister-Witch was going to start demanding things of H er new champion . _With their desire to ‘end the tyranny of the sun’, the wretched undead spawn of Molag Bal seek nought but death to all living beings. I will not allow this. Take your companions and ride for Dayspring Canyon in the Velothi Mountains, where sits Fort Dawnguard. Take up arms with Isran ibn-Rostam, follower of the Divines he may be, and show Skyrim’s vampires the wrath of Meridia_.

 

Well, there was no denying the Lady’s command. _As You will it, so shall it be_ , the oath she’d sworn to Her on Mount Kilkreath went. Time to go be a Hero once more.

 

Besides, it’d be a great distraction from the _dovah_ slithering underneath her skin, swimming in her veins, roaring to be let out.

 

‘Of _course_ I say yes, you silly mer,’ Thuban laughed. Putting her mead aside, she took one of Durak’s meaty hands into both of hers, clasping them tightly. ‘It would be an honour to be your shield-brother. As you can see, I’m not just a follower of the Daedric Prince Meridia, but Her champion,’ she said, indicating at the legendary sword Dawnbreaker fastened to her hip. ‘I know She doesn’t have the greatest relationship with Stendarr, Arkay or any of the Divines, really, but like Them, She wouldn’t want Mundus to fall prey to vampires who think they can blot out the sun. She would bless the Dawnguard’s efforts, for sure.’

 

‘Uh, alright then!’ Durak said, raising his eyebrows in surprise. ‘We’re based in Dayspring Canyon, south of Riften. Shouldn’t be more than an hour’s ride away from the city; the Rift Jarl who built Fort Dawnguard in the first place wanted to keep a watchful eye on his vampire son, so it’s conveniently close by.’ Breaking away from Thuban, he took a swig of mead. ‘You have a fantastic night, Dragonborn. Just remember – Alduin wasn’t the only big baddie out there, yeah? Gods bless.’

 

 _How I wish He was_ , Thuban pondered as Durak and Tandare – Tiidmiinaal – disappeared into the crowd after goodbyes were exchanged. The less potentially world-ending threats to her kith and kin, the better. At least these Volkihar vampires were, for now, the only ones who wanted to fuck shit up.

 

(Right?)

 

-

 

‘You there! You’re the one they call ‘Dragonborn?’’

 

Thuban groaned at the Solstheim-accented Dunmer’s question. She wished she had her bow with her, because she so badly wanted to stick an arrow in the heads of each of these strange robed folk who made her _dovah sos_ boil with anxiety.

 

_Mir-Aak comes, Miraak, Magni, the First Dragonborn comes to take over Tamriel, he is building an army of cultists of his own –_

 

 _That fucker should be eras dead_ , Thuban sighed at her racing mind. _These are just some random fetchers_ . _I saved the world; people are going to take an interest in me, and not all of them will be pleasant._

 

‘If the horns and eyes didn’t make it obvious, yes, I am ‘Dragonborn,’’ Thuban said, smirking. She tapped one of her horns for emphasis. ‘What do you want?’

 

The Dunmer who’d asked the question was clearly glaring at her from underneath his strange dragonbone ( _how on Nirn did he get_ that?) mask. ‘We are here to clear the way for our Lord Miraak, the one true Dragonborn!’ he snarled. He performed a hand movement for his similarly masked friends. ‘Kill her.’

 

_Bormahu, You have some explaining to do._

 

‘Er, _niid_ , don’t kill her–’ Thuban had seconds to jump out of the way of one of the Dunmers’ blast of Destruction magic. Cursing her lack of a bow and arrows, she unsheathed Dawnbreaker and pointed it at her attackers in an attempt to get them to back off. It didn’t work. Another blast of Destruction magic, from a different Dunmer this time. Getting up from her knees, she brushed off Saviour’s Hide and glowered at the ‘cultists’.

 

Her _dovah sos_ screamed like a _dovah_ having its soul torn out. How dare these _joorre_ challenge her? How dare _Miraak_ challenge her, rather, for these were simply his insignificant _joor_ followers. _Tahrodiis zeymah!_ She was Thurbah, vanquisher of Alduin, rightful _Thuri_ of _Keizaal!_ _Of_ _Taazokaan!_ (Whoa, where in Y’ffre’s name was _this_ shit coming from? No she wasn’t–) None would challenge her in _her_ land without a fight!

 

( _Alright, enough of that_ )

 

Acting on instinct, Thuban lunged at the nearest attacker with Dawnbreaker, running him through with the blade. She thrust it through his stomach and it came out on the other side, through his back, with a wet, slick _crunch_ . She used the ‘cultist’’s body as a shield to deflect more bursts of fire, frost and lightning being thrown at her by his comrades before running at another, ripping open her teeth with her neck, a move she’d learnt during her brief un-life as a vampire (Falion had advised not to try it once she was cured of _Sanguinare Vampiris_ , but she didn’t have a rational thought running through her head right now). Her fangs had yet to dull, so her poor victim’s throat burst open in a sickening spray of crimson. Blood didn’t taste particulary good as a mortal, so Thuban spat out a glob of the stuff before dumping her body onto the cobblestone of the Plains District streets.

 

‘Gods, a fight!’ Thorald Grey-Mane exclaimed from behind her, watching on in a mixture of horror and amazement. ‘Dragonborn! Do you need help?’ He reached for the hilt of his axe. It’d only been a month since Thuban had rescued the Grey-Mane scion from the Thalmor’s torture dungeons at Northwatch Keep, but he looked hale enough to jump into battle, she supposed.

 

‘ _Geh_ ,’ Thuban heaved, wiping blood from her mouth. ‘These fuckers want to – _Y’ffre!_ Not fair! Stop fighting so rough, you gods-damned–’ a cultist had put his boot to her back and drove her to the ground, then readied his sword to run her through. Kicking up, Thuban managed to put him off balance long enough to scramble to her feet, clashing swords with him before, at last, Shouting.

 

‘ _FUS-RO-DAH!_ ’

 

A strong gust of blue-tinged wind was unleashed from her mouth, grabbing the cultists and blowing them into Whiterun's gates. The Shout seemed to act like a call to action for Thorald as well as his kin, Avulstein and Olfina, who charged at her attackers like true _berserkr_.

 

‘The Thu’um! She summons the Thu’um!’ a guard shouted. ‘To arms!’ The lanky woman then unsheathed her sword and ran at the nearest cultist, screaming something in Whiterun Nord that was too heavily-accented for Thuban, used to the Eastmarch Nord dialects, to understand.

 

‘Lord Miraak comes, and he will destroy you all-’

 

‘Piss off, snowback,’ Thorald snarled, cutting off a cultist’s protestations with his axe.

 

After a few more minutes of fighting, it was done. Thuban was quite impressed with Olfina’s effort, since she was keeping up with the rest of them despite not having armour on or a proper weapon to wield; her Skyforge dagger _did_ hold up in a brawl, though.

 

‘An honour to fight by your side, my Thane,’ the guard said with pride, saluting Thuban. ‘Though how the Oblivion did these folk get past the gates? Gods have mercy, has Kjeld been lazing off on the job again? I oughta go smack that milk-drinker silly.’

 

‘Go do that, ma’am,’ Thuban said, nodding at her salute. ‘Hey, what’s your name?’

 

‘Liesl the Fleet, my Thane,’ Liesl pronounced with even more pride, if that was possible. ‘I head up the Plains District guard squadron.’

 

‘Well, Liesl the Fleet, next time I’m called to the Stallion-Throne, I’ll put in a word with Jarl Balgruuf to raise the wages of you and your men for your work here today. Gods be with you.’

 

Liesl could’ve fainted there and then, but she simply squeaked in star-struck awe and saluted Thuban again before she headed into a guard tower by the gates, presumably to go yell at whoever Kjeld was.

 

‘Everything okay here, Dragonborn?’ Thorald called, wiping the blood from his armour and axe. ‘Talos, they put up quite the struggle. Looked desperate to go at it.’

 

Thuban looked at the tangled mess of the cultists’ blood-stained, gore-splattered bodies. ‘ _Geh_ , er, I mean, yes, it’s all good,’ she replied. ‘I’ll rifle through their pockets; any gold is on you Grey-Manes for helping me out in a pinch. Gods keep you.’

 

‘And you, Dragonborn,’ Olfina said, beaming. ‘May you die with a sword in your hands.’

 

 _I’d prefer to go to Y’ffre with an arrow nocked in my bow, but I appreciate the sentiment_ , Thuban thought.

 

Rummaging through the pockets of what appeared to have been the ‘head’ cultist, she found a note written in hastily-scrawled Common that gave her a headache the size of Masser.

 

_Board the vessel Northern Maiden docked at Raven Rock. Take it to Windhelm, then begin your search. Kill the Dragonborn known as Thuban Swift-Arrow before she reaches Solstheism. Return with word of your success, and Miraak shall be most pleased._

 

Her holiday with the Dawnguard would have to wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It seems a bit odd to have Miraak's cultist refer to Thuban as a 'False Dragonborn' cause, uh. Dragon horns and dragon-like eyes and shit. Even they would have to see that she *is* a 'true' Dragonborn; they'd just believe Miraak to be the best one, like with 'favourite character' wars in fandoms.


	4. Preparations

‘I’d tell you to start from the beginning, but I don’t think I want to know.’

 

The fresh edition of _The Solitude Courier_ was dumped onto the command table by General Tullius with a weary scowl. _THALMOR EMBASSY ATTACKED BY BLADES AGENTS!_ , the newspaper proclaimed in bold black ink on its front page. _IS THIS THE START OF A SECOND GREAT WAR?_

 

‘Surely the great Marcus Tullius Albus would know better than to trust the proclamations of town criers,’ Rigel said dryly. ‘I simply wanted to send a message to an old friend. Her new friends were less than receptive to my presence at the Embassy, so I responded in kind.’

 

She’d donned her old Blades armour for the occasion, with an application of Falinesti warpaint to scare the Thalmor who would know what it was and why her people’s warriors wear it into battle. The aging dai-katana she’d received upon her promotion to Grandmaster of the Blades by Jauffre all those years ago hung from her hip unsheathed, slick with blood. Her breath stank of raw flesh, betraying what, or rather, _who_ she’d been feasting on over the past day. Her Redguard and Argonian companions were also suited up in Blades armour with katanas of their own, and they, too, were covered in blood. She’d sure as shit wanted to do more than send a message to Elenwen, but whatever it was, she didn’t let anything on. The tiny Bosmeri womer’s face showed nothing but a wall of detached humour.

 

‘‘Wanted to send a message,’’ Captain Aldis muttered a little too loudly, leaning against the wall behind the command table. ‘Mara have mercy, you sent ‘em a fuckin’ ‘message’ alright, _Grandmaster_.’ He glared at Rigel and her entourage of Knight-Brothers, lips pursed. ‘I think to myself, hey, fuck yeah, Alduin was defeated! The Dragonborn’s saved the world! Now all my men have to deal with is the occasional bandit or vampire raid – but _no_ , you shit-stirring Blades just _had_ to rip the White-Gold Concordant to shreds right on our doorstep! Now Ambassador Elenwen is apparently sending for some of the high-ranking members of the Alinor government, who will be _coming to Solitude any day now_ to ‘investigate treason against the Aldmeri Dominion’, _do you even know_ how fucked we all are–’

 

‘Phew, somebody’s mad,’ Rigel snarked, crossing her arms. That didn’t help to cool Aldis’ anger. ‘’sides, where does it say in the White-Gold Concordant that having some good ol’ fisticuffs with Thalmor was disallowed? I was a member of the Thalmor back when all they were was just a doomsday cult holed up on Alinor. Their main motivation with the Concordant is to destroy Talos’ cult, believe me.’

 

‘Godsdammit, Swift-Arrow, can you not see that _this is your fault?_ ’

 

‘No, it’s my fault,’ Tullius said defeatingly, his head hung. The Kvatchian looked like wanted to be anywhere but Castle Dour right this moment. ‘The city guards have reported multiple sightings of Delphine Dupre in and around Solitude since Legate Thuban Swift-Arrow was revealed to be a Dragonborn last year. Gods, I should have known that blasted woman was up to something... then the stories from the Reach came to us, about this ‘Sky Haven Temple’ and scores of known Forsworn, Stormcloak and even _Legion_ soldiers being sighted in Akaviri-style armour... _then_ Legate Thuban’s rather theatrical arrival in Whiterun, as a courier informed me of this morning… Nine give me strength.’ It took a second before he realised what had slipped out of his mouth. ‘Ahem, _Eight_ give me strength. I swear, Skyrim might top Illiac Bay as the most headache-inducing job I’ve ever taken. Fuck this entire province, beautiful as it may be.’

 

‘Wouldn’t that be more of a reason to fuck it, General?’ Rikke asked with a smirk. ‘Anyway. Grandmaster Rigel, we are honoured to have you here in Solitude, but did you have to do… whatever it is that the Blades do since a Dragonborn stopped warming the Ruby Throne while the Emperor is in town? I presume His Majesty wishes for his cousin Victoria’s wedding to happen in peace. The Empire’s legions are too far-spread and under-manned – no thanks to you stealing auxiliaries from us, by the way – to survive through another war with the Dominion.’ She offered Rigel a sympathetic smile, but the tall Nord woman’s body was stiff with tension underneath her armour. ‘Look, I’m sorry about your husband. I got my start in the Bruma Second, and Legate Primus Ari may as well be elevated to sainthood with what I heard about him. His infection with vampirism was a tragic thing. I’m also sorry about Titus Mede leaving the Blades to the Thalmor’s wrath; I have Bruman relatives who were in your Order, I know _exactly_ what became of them. _I understand_. But slaughtering Thalmor footsoldiers and pissing off Ambassador Elenwen isn’t going to do a whet of good for the citizens outside. Please try to see past your personal need for revenge.’

 

‘Good thing I want to fulfil other peoples’ personal need for revenge instead then, eh?’ Rigel laughed, pointing her thumb at her Knight-Brothers. ‘This charming Redguard lad is Baurus ibn-Cepheus; yes, _that_ Cepheus from Sentinel, and yes, he’s a descendant of _that_ Baurus who served with me in the Blades during the Oblivion Crisis. I found him a drunken, near-goldless wreck in the Imperial City. Lucky for him and everyone who perished during Hammerfell’s war with the Dominion, he’s taken his hatred for the Thalmor into his own hands.’

 

‘We’re gonna take the bastards down,’ Baurus said determinedly. He clutched the hilt of his katana.

 

‘And this beautiful Argonian is Hunts-In-Shadows,’ Rigel said, Hunts-In-Shadows chuckling at her compliment. ‘After he helped An-Xileel put a stop to a potential Dominion invasion of Black Marsh thanks to someone he’d once considered a friend selling their countrymen out, he decided that he wanted to do more with his life than irk out a meagre existence in Lilmoth as a Wamasu hunter. No, you have your eyes set on bigger prey, don’t you, my friend?’

 

‘Indeed,’ Hunts said, nodding, a fire in his gaze. ‘General, Legate – Captain–’ The heavily-scarred Argonian paused to shoot finger-crossbows at Aldis, who looked like Red Mountain on the verge of eruption. ‘–we appreciate your concern, but no harm shall come to the people of Solitude, or Skyrim at large. The Blades are no longer associated with the Empire of Cyrodiil, yes? The Grandmaster has made it clear to Elenwen that our actions do not reflect on the desires of your Emperor or his Legion. Rather, we pursue the Thalmor in this land because Rigel has revealed to us their true motive for what they do, and by the Hist, it goes beyond your petty notions of a second Great War.’

 

‘They want to destroy Mundus,’ Baurus blurted out. Seeing the reaction of Rikke and Tullius, he covered his face with his palm, but nonetheless continued, ‘Oh, gods, they want to fucking _unmake reality!_ Getting rid of the worship of Talos, taking over Tamriel, these are all paltry things compared to what they’re _really_ after. They think elves will become like gods and ‘escape this mortal coil’ if they eradicate the Towers – which I thought was an old wives’ tale until the Grandmaster told me otherwise – oh, Ruptga, they’re doomsday idiots with positions in government! And authority!’

 

Yeah, Skyrim did top Illiac Bay as the most headache-inducing job Tullius had ever taken.

 

‘No-one outside of the Thalmor’s top brass knows about this,’ Rigel interjected. ‘Ancarion, Ondolemar, Rulindil, all these ‘high-ranking’ Justiciars who think they’ve been sent to the provinces of the Empire to establish merish supremacy... fools, the lot of them. I wonder if they’ll still be loyal to the Thalmor when they find out about their masters’ designs for the Grand Unmaking. Oh, yes, they have a name for it. They’ve plotted this shit for centuries, remember.’

 

She put both hands on the command table and leaned against it, meeting Tullius eye to eye. ‘I came here to discuss this, General,’ she said softly. ‘You and the Legate Primus here need to know. Mede needs to know. Fuck it, the people need to know. Because they deserve to understand what’s going on if the Thalmor heads break Auri-El Time-Dragon like they want to.’

 

Tullius muttered foul-sounding curses under his breath in Cyrod.

 

‘Fine,’ he said at last. ‘Aldis, clear my schedule for the rest of today. Rikke, get the wine. We’re going to need it.’

 

-

 

The moons had only just revealed themselves from under the horizon, but Harkon knew they would be lovely and full tonight. The sky was still splattered with pink, reds and oranges from the sun’s setting, but that wretched tear in reality had given way to the brilliance of Nocturnal’s queendom, the stars glittering against an inky-black-and-blue backdrop. _At last_. His progeny hadn’t had the chance to feed in nights; the last, straggling remains of Skyrim’s Vigilants of Stendarr had been patrolling the Haafingar coast like rats, but with the triumphant return of the hunting party he’d sent out last week, he knew they’d been dealt with.

 

‘My lord,’ Fura Bloodmouth greeted him with, offering him a reverent bow. ‘The Vigilant pox has been dealt with. In quite spectacular fashion, might I add. The bards oughta sing about our battle.’

 

Harkon smirked, his gaze still fixed on the horizon. ‘They will, sweet childe. Patience. We are in a time of prophecy. The mortals will bend the knee to us soon enough,’ he said warmly. ‘Anything of note to report?’

 

‘No, my lord,’ Orthjolf said. ‘Though when we sent Modhna to scout out the Vigilants at Broken Oar, she overheard two of them talking about some new order of vampire hunters called the Dawnguard. They’re based in the Rift, so they shouldn’t be too much of a problem to us, I think.’

 

Harkon hissed in disappointment. ‘Orthjolf, my childe, any organised group of vampire hunters poses a problem to our kind. They startle the herd, making our infiltration of mortal society more difficult. Not to mention, if this Dawnguard is the same as those wretches we dealt with in the Second Era, they will want nought but the extermination of our family. We were the only vampire clan in Skyrim they could not destroy.’ Orthjolf’s lack of response betrayed his confusion. ‘Ah, yes, I forget you were not with us back then. Forgive me. Do go ask Vingalmo about our history once in a while, boy, it will do you good.’

 

‘Do you wish for me to find out about this reformed Dawnguard, my lord?’ Garan Marethi asked from the back of the party that crowded his balcony.

 

‘Very well, Garan,’ Harkon said, nodding. ‘Send scouts to look for their fort outside of Riften, should it still stand. I want to know exactly what they’re up to. Should Molag will it, these fleas will not interrupt our work.’

 

‘My lord,’ Garan replied, bowing deeply before heading back into Volkihar Keep. ‘I shall also inform our kin they are able to feed on the mainland again.’

 

‘Do so.’ The rest of the hunting party then began to stream indoors, giving Harkon his solitude back. Sighing, he drank in the silence of the Keep’s courtyard, until he picked up the familiar _twang_ of a bow being fired down below which interrupted his thoughts.

 

Ari Swift-Arrow was one of the more recent additions to Clan Volkihar, having arrived to join Harkon only twenty-five years ago, but he’d taken a liking to the willowy Eastmarcher. Granted, he did not properly appreciate the blessing of Molag Bal, but he’d been so desperate to rid himself of the _Porphyric Hemophilia_ he’d contracted from some thin-blood wretch in Skingrad, so willing to enter his service in exchange for a cure, that Harkon had gladly bestowed his heart’s blood upon him. Ari hadn’t spoken much about his mortal life, but what he had shared revealed that he had a wife and daughter, like himself. In fact, his daughter was none other than the famous Last Dragonborn he’d heard news of from the mainland, who had cut a delightfully bloody swathe across Skyrim over the past year. Ari would always find a way to change the subject from Thuban when her exploits came up in conversation in the Grand Hall, but now a side from Hestla and Ronthil keeping him company, he was alone. With Harkon’s desire to begin the end of the tyranny of the sun, it was an opportune time to mention inducting a Dragonborn into the Volkihar. Having witnessed the raw, awe-ful power of Dragonborn ‘heroes’ as a mortal ( _They called me ‘The Butcher’, yet King Wulfharth, who killed as many people as I, remains noble in the eyes of historians_ , he thought in disdain), Harkon had no doubt Thuban could be a weapon to wield against Auri-El Himself. She’d even been a vampire for a brief moment during Skyrim’s recent civil war; awed thralls had told him tales of a half-elf Imperial Questor with _Sanguinare Vampiris_ who was the scourge of the Stormcloaks in the Battle of Whiterun. Why the girl had chosen to be cured, he didn’t know. Perhaps her father would make her see the error of her ways.

 

Dissipating into a swarm of bats, Harkon flew down to the Keep courtyard where Hestla and Ronthil were watching Ari shoot at a makeshift target. His sudden presence had Hestla fall to her knees in reverence, though Ronthil merely acknowledged him with a nod of his head before continuing his conversation with Ari.

 

‘I’m telling you, man, you need to replace that bow of yours,’ Ronthil said, studying Ari’s Imperial Legion-made weapon. ‘The arrows, as well. How you’re still using the quiver you came to us with is beyond me. It’s time you let go of your past.’ Turning to Harkon, he offered a proper display of respect. ‘My lord. What do you require?’

 

Harkon indicated at the auburn-haired Nord who continued drawing and releasing his bow as if nothing had happened. ‘Him.’ After Ari shot the last arrow in his quiver, he approached him and studied his expression. ‘You are troubled, childe.’

 

‘It’s nothing,’ Ari half-muttered, half-spoke. ‘I… heard that my wife, Rigel, is in Skyrim. She was seen in Solitude recently, at Castle Dour. I’m simply reacting badly to the news, that’s all.’

 

‘Oh, it’s more than that,’ Ronthil said, smirking. ‘Thuban is travelling to Riften to join the Dawnguard.’

 

Harkon frowned empathetically. He had enough experience with family turning against oneself to last several lifetimes. ‘Well, that does make my plans for her a touch… complicated.’

 

Hestla cocked her head to the side, confused. ‘My lord?’

 

‘As you know, childeren, I will always offer your mortal kin a place at my side when you join me. I am far too familiar with what it is like to betrayed by those who you love – Ronthil, you understand what I mean.’ The Bosmer nodded. He’d been there for the feud between his Lord, Valerica and Serana. ‘But this is no ordinary mortal I speak of. Thuban Swift-Arrow is Dragonborn, and was, for a moment in time, a vampire – thin-blooded, yes, but she still walked among our kind. She will know the gifts Lord Molag Bal gives us.’ Harkon caught Ari wincing, though chose to ignore his disrespect of his Daedric sire. ‘Hence, once we have retrieved the Elder Scroll of the Sun from Dimhollow Crypt, I will ask you to bring her to me so I can bestow my blood upon her. The Last Dragonborn will become the jewel of the Volkihar crown, Lord Bal willing.’

 

‘Harkon–’ Ari began, cutting himself off when Harkon’s piercing gaze bore into him. ‘– _my lord_. Your offer is most appreciated, but how do you know Thuban will not have an, ah… _reaction_ to your blood?’ he asked. It sounded like he wanted to talk him out of it. ‘There is a stark difference between contracting a disease and receiving your... blessing, my lord. The souls of Dragonborn are like those of the _dov_ , already immortal, undying. She could have trouble adjusting to becoming a full-blooded vampire.’

 

‘Your concern for your daughter is heartening, my childe, but your protests will not stop me,’ Harkon said. ‘If we are to end the tyranny of the sun, we must have only the greatest weapons at our disposal. And a Dragonborn is the greatest living weapon the gods can give to us.’ Turning to Ronthil, he intoned, ‘Assemble an entourage to find Thuban Swift-Arrow. She will be on the road, travelling between Whiterun and Riften. Please do not use force; I intend for her to come to me freely.’

 

‘My lord.’ Ronthil waved goodbye to Ari before darting off indoors.

 

‘Sweet Hestla, the hunting party who have returned from dealing with wayward Vigilants on the coast are in need of new weaponry. I assume you will be able to grant them good steel.’

 

‘It will be done, my lord.’

 

‘As for you, Ari,’ Harkon said, studying the slender Nord, ‘I have a task that would benefit from your particular expertise.’

 

‘...particular expertise, my lord?’ Ari asked.

 

Harkon sighed. ‘Your skill in battle and stealth, childe. You have yet to take advantage of your vampiric powers. Regardless – I believe you know of the Bloodstone Chalice? A little bird has whispered to me that some of my progeny in this court wish to overthrow my rule. With the Chalice filled, my throne will be secured. Travel to Redwater Den in the Rift and fill it with the waters of the Bloodspring. Though do remember to also fill it with the blood of an ancient vampire – that’s the key to unlocking the Chalice’s power.’

 

‘Very well, my lord,’ Ari said. ‘The night is still young, so I ought to leave now, if it please you. The Rift is a long journey away.’ He offered Harkon a salute he understood to be from the Imperial Legion. Barely-covered dissent was in his eyes.

 

‘Hmm,’ was all Harkon could say as his youngest progeny stowed his bow and arrows on his back and left. Whether or not he would actually return was uncertain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'Childe' as a term a vampire uses to refer to other vampires they created was nicked from White Wolf's World of Darkness, namely their Vampire series (The Masquerade, The Requiem etc.) Idk, I just thought it fit. 
> 
> Also, Dawnguard stuff will be happening as of the next chapter! \o/ Which may be 1) long as heck 2) take a while to write, but I hope it'll be alright :)
> 
> Your bookmarks, comments and kudos are much loved, as usual <3


	5. Dawnguard

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a complete monstrosity what the actual heck :o
> 
> I apologise for the alternating chapter lengths, lol
> 
> Ta'agra borrowed from the wonderful Ta'agra Project: taagra.com
> 
> Rumarin and Anum-La the Swamp Knight are from the mod Interesting NPCs.

‘ _Dras’kay_ , Ri’saad – wait, who are these strange _jetwijijri_ you have brought into our tent?’

 

Ri’saad chuckled at Khayla’s reaction. ‘At ease, cub. These are friends of Thuban-Ja-Dar.’

 

Khayla properly looked through the flap of the tent and noticed Thuban sitting in the back, wrapped in elk hides and cradling a mug of Moon Sugar-Drink in her hands. ‘Ah, _jobal kha’jay_ , sister. This one is pleased to see you again.’

 

‘ _Sala kha’jay_ ,’ Thuban replied, smiling weakly. ‘Forgive me, this one is... not herself today. I wish our reunion were in more… pleasant circumstances.’ Her breathing was short and erratic, her eyes transfixed on the ground. Ri’saad’s pride had seen her in such a state enough times for them to know what was wrong.

 

‘Oh, gods, _vara jer do_?’ Khayla asked, slipping into the tent to go and sit by her side. She curled her tail around Thuban and rubbed her back to try and calm her.

 

‘ _Na do_.’ Thuban could barely speak.

 

‘Is it the nightmares again?’ Atahbah offered from over by the merchandise. ‘Hmm, perhaps this one should have put lavender into the mixture after all… oh, _dran khrassa_.’

 

‘No,’ Thuban said in between anxious breaths. ‘Something – something _happened_ , did you – did you see a group of Dunmer and Nords dressed in long, dark robes with strange masks? Just this morning?’

 

Ri’saad frowned in contemplation. ‘Hmm, now that you mention it, this one did see this group in the morning, yes.’ He briefly checked outside to see if any customers were waiting before returning to their conversation. ‘What is the problem, cub?’

 

‘They tried to kill me,’ Thuban blurted out. ‘Shor’s bones, _they tried to kill me!_ ’ She took a long gulp of her drink, shivering in the cold afternoon air despite the warmth of the tent. ‘Fuck, I – I _know_ I’m used to people trying to kill me, eh, Rumarin?’ Rumarin, sitting cross-legged beside her, smirked in response. ‘But _shit_ , they were different, saying they were going to kill this one because of some motherfucker called Miraak–’

 

‘Miraak?’ Khayla’s ears perked up in curiousity.

 

‘A Dragonborn,’ Thuban intoned, taking another long gulp. Her breathing started to slow down. ‘A Dragonborn, like me. I asked Jarl Balgruuf’s court wizard to do some scrying for me and all he could pick up was that Miraak has some kinda cult on Solstheim, where they refer to him as the ‘First Dragonborn’, and that he’s somehow enslaved, like, half the population to work on these ancient Skaal stones dotted across the island. I don’t know how, or why, but that’s all I know about the man who sent people to kill me.’ She sobbed, though no tears came from her eyes.

 

‘Shhh, sister, it’s alright,’ Khayla murmured. ‘Well, no, not really, but we will make sure this Miraak does not send his lackies to kill you again.’ She turned to Ri’saad, looking at him expectingly. ‘Right, Ri’saad?’

 

‘This one has a business to run, cub.’

 

‘That didn’t stop you taking in Thuban-Ja-Dar in the first place!’ Khayla protested. ‘She’d escaped the Thalmor in _Alinor_ , for Khenarthi’s sake, she could have gotten us arrested anywhere between Senchal and Dune, yet we still smuggled her through Cyrodiil into Skyrim!’ Thuban tensed up at the mention of her recent past; Rumarin frowned at her empathetically. She made a mental note to ask him about his own tragic backstory later. ‘She may not really be Khajiit, but this one considers her to be one of us as any Ohmes. So this one will defend her, come what may.’

 

Thuban finished her drink and leaned into Khayla’s embrace, smiling. ‘Aww, Khayla, do you really mean that?’ she asked. ‘ _Ja’fith khaja_ , sister.’

 

‘How Khayla wishes for Riddle’thar to turn these cold sands warm, but your words are appreciated,’ Khayla chuckled. ‘Yes, this one does mean that. Truthfully.’

 

‘Okay, so, I know we’re in the middle of a heart-to-heart and I shouldn’t really interrupt,’ Rumarin said, ‘but can I have whatever Thuban has? It looks rather warm and delicious.’

 

Atahbah swatted the Altmer with her tail. ‘ _Jer vara ma’i_ ,’ she said, rolling her eyes. ‘It is traditional Pellitine medicine, _jetwijijri_ , not Skooma. Distilled moon sugar is used to treat Sheggorath’s inflammation of the nerves.’ She peered at Rumarin, hands on hips. ‘Has the Mad God made His presence known to you?’

 

‘Er, well, one can never be too careful with the effects of adventuring; I can’t say if I have any anxiety or trauma or whatever you usually get from staring death in the face near-constantly, since Arcadia, the last apothecary we visited, does have a tendency to diagnose problems that aren’t even there,’ Rumarin said. ‘You know, the first time I went into her shop with Thuban, she told her, ‘You look rather pale. Could be Ataxia.’ She’s half-Nord, for goodness’ sake! Pretty much all of them are ‘rather pale’ up here! They’re pasty as Oblivion! Wait, is Oblivion light-coloured? I’m not sure. Nevermind.’

 

‘This one thinks the banana elf is kissed by Sheggorath in a different way,’ Ma’randru’jo said dryly as he entered the tent. ‘ _Dras’kay_ , Thuban-Ja-Dar. Are you alright? This one heard from Ri’saad that you came to our camp earlier in hysterics. Such a thing has not happened in years.’

 

Thuban gulped. ‘ _Dras’kay_ , Ma’ra. I – _va do_ , thank you. It…’ she trailed off, looking at Ma’randru’jo mournfully. ‘Turns out the Greybeards’ speculation was right, and there _is_ another Dragonborn aside from me in this era. Miraak, from Solstheim . I don’t know if that’s his real name ( _that is his true name, Thurbah, do not kid yourself–_ ) but it’s what his angry toadies called him when they said they’d come to kill me to ‘clear the way’ for him. Sounds like he wants to start some shit in Skyrim,’ She pulled her elk hide blankets more snugly around her, her breath billowing into a hot cloud in the chilly air. ‘Maybe even Tamriel at large, I don’t know ( _yes you do, joor mey, Miraak comes to exact revenge_ –).’

 

Ma’randru’jo furrowed his brow. ‘This one is confused. Did Thuban-Ja-Dar not just fight Alduin and win? Surely another Dragonborn would not be a problem after you have faced the ‘World-Eater’.’

 

‘It’s _because_ I just fought Alduin that I’m scared!’ Thuban yelped. ‘You weren’t _there_ in Sovngarde, you didn’t see Alduin World-Eater in His full, terrible ‘glory’! I had a hunch that Hakon, Gormlaith, Felldir and I were going to kill Him, yeah, but that I may go down with Him and join my father’s fathers in Shor’s Hall! I thought I was going to _die!_ ’ she hissed, her Thu’um tingeing her voice. Her hands gripped her empty mug tighter. ‘But, okay, I didn’t, I came back to Nirn alive. That’s fine. That’s great! Being alive is great! But no sooner did I come back, I found out I had fucking _horns_ on my head, and my eyes were different! _Dragon’s eyes_ , with fucking _dragon’s pupils!_ ’ Those same draconic eyes were more wide and anxious than any wyrm Ri’saad’s pride had seen in the wild. It was unusual, but reminded them that Thuban was still mortal, still the same stocky halfling Bosmer they’d met in Firsthold. ‘And I thought I wouldn’t have to deal with any more end-of-the-world threats after Alduin, but _no_ , _Bor_ – Auri-El must have it out for me, because not only are there vampires who want to blot out the sun, which would, you know, _end the world_ , there’s apparently another Dragonborn out there, who wants me _dead_ so he can fuck shit up! I…’ she was cut off by a sob, which came with tears this time.

 

‘Shhh, sister, shhh,’ Khayla murmured, wrapping her arm around Thuban. ‘Atahbah, can you make some more Moon Sugar-Drink for Thuban-Ja-Dar? This one thinks she will need one for the road, too.’ Atahbah nodded, heading outside to go to the tent where the Khajiit kept their alchemy table. Despite Thuban feeling the cold, she was half-Nord, thus radiated heat like a furnace like all Nords; Khayla found this to be enough of a reward for comforting an old friend. Because _gods_ , Skyrim was a chilly land. ‘Khajiit cannot choose the forms we are born with; oh, prospective parents will try to choose, will petition the gods and the ancestors and Jode and Jone for this form or that for their litters, but it does nothing. The _Jha’Khajay_ alone decides our fate. It is a fate we must learn to accept, since we are dealt it for the entirety of our lives.’ Rain began to pour outside, pitter-pattering against the roof of the tent. Khayla frowned, but continued, ‘As Khajiit are shaped by the _Jha’Khajay_ , so you are shaped by Alkosh, Thuban-Ja-Dar. Akatosh, Auri-El, whatever, it all points to the same god, this one thinks, regardless of what the Clan Mothers say. Anyway. Khayla knows it is sorrowful for you to hear that your fate is not your own, especially now, but you must deal with this, because wishing you were not a doom-driven Dragonborn when you are one does not change the manner of things. Your life has to carry on. The Dragon-King of Cats brought you into this world for a purpose, sister, and it goes beyond defeating Alduin. This one thinks He wants you to use your power to help people. Not to conquer them, necessarily, like Alessia, Reman Cyrodiil or Tiber Septim, but to _work_ with them, to defend them against _any_ threat to the world.’

 

Thuban sniffed, huddling against Khayla’s shoulder. ‘Why _me_ , though?’ she asked, wiping away tears. ‘Why did He have to choose _me?_ My mother is Sh– the Champion of Cyrodiil, and is – was the Grandmaster of the Blades. I haven’t had much in the way of normality in my life because of it. Couldn’t He have chosen another soul so I could have something resembling _peace?_ ’

 

‘Maybe Alkosh chose you because of the circumstances of your birth,’ Khayla said softly. ‘It has toughened you for the challenges you have faced since coming to Skyrim. Many others in your position would have collapsed from the weight of being Dragonborn.’

 

‘You’re not alone,’ Anum-La interjected, not having spoken until now thanks to tucking into an Elsweyr Fondue. ‘You have Rumarin and I. You have these Khajiit here. You have the Blades – an army of yes-men who would jump off the Throat of the World if you told them to! Not to mention, you have the good people of Skyrim at your back. Don’t think they’ll ever give up on you after everything you’ve done for them.’ She offered Thuban a resolute, sympathetic smile. ‘Yeah, this whole doom-driven hero of prophecy stuff sucks real naga dick, but you don’t have to go through it alone. We’ve got you, friend.’

 

Thuban clambered over to Anum-La, carrying some of her elk hide blankets with her, flinging her arms around the steel-armoured Argonian. ‘Thank you, shield-sister,’ was all she could murmur in between tears.

 

‘Sure,’ Anum-La said warmly. ‘Er, much as I love a hug, Thuban, I think the big cat – Ri’saad, is it? Right, okay, Ri’saad – wants you for something.’

 

‘It is alright, Anum-La,’ Ri’saad chuckled. ‘Khajiit simply wishes to tell Thuban-Ja-Dar that Atahbah has made her more Moon Sugar-Drink.’ He reached through the tent flap to collect the bottled substances before Atahbah came back inside, a trail of muddy pawprints following her. ‘Also, this one advises her to begin travelling to the Rift if she wishes to join the Dawnguard. The sun shall be setting in a few hours, Khajiit thinks.’

 

Thuban frowned and took a swig from one of the flasks of Moon Sugar-Drink. ‘Ah, _geh_ . Gotta go save the world. Again. _Geh_ . _Tiid bo amativ._ ’ She didn’t sound pleased about that notion, but nodded resolutely. ‘Not to mention, Meridia wills it. So... I’ll stay in Whiterun tonight, pack, then head off tomorrow. Anum-La, Rumarin, you guys still coming with me?’

 

‘Until the end,’ Anum-La said, half-raising her fist.

 

‘’course I’m coming with you, you silly womer,’ Rumarin said with a wink. ‘With all the fun, life-threatening times we’ve had together, I’m never leaving your side. Unless you want me to, of course. Then I will. But I hope you won’t want me to.’

 

Thuban laughed; she could always count on Rumarin to cheer her up, even just a little. ‘That settles it, then. _Kha’jay krimir iso jer_ , Ri’saad. Thank you for your hospitality, as always. If you see Akhari and company on the way to Riften, tell her this one said hi.’

 

-

 

The journey to Dayspring Canyon would take at least four days. A squadron of Blades had stayed behind in Whiterun after Thuban’s grand return to civilisation on Odahviing’s back, wanting to protect the Dragonborn as their Order had always done instead of sit on their arses in Sky Haven Temple, occasionally venturing out to slay a dragon or two. Thuban figured a handful of extra bodyguards ( _though some fucking protection they_ _were_ _when I was being attack_ _ed_ _by Miraak’s cultists_ , she grumbled internally) would do no harm, so alongside Anum-La and Rumarin, she rode out of Whiterun Hold with Fasendil, Kaie and a couple of Blades who she didn’t recognise.

 

‘That’s Eren, over there,’ Kaie said, pointing out the short, heavily-tattooed, olive-skinned Reachman riding a similarly small, but sturdy Reach horse. ‘One of the brothers from Druadach. Mind, we do still consider ourselves Forsworn, but we now also have a duty to you, Dragonborn, for your help in freeing King Madanach.’ She still donned the ragged fur armour that Forsworn were often seen in, as did Eren, sighting its enchantments to help with Destruction magic as as their reason. ‘And over there is Fara, who, believe it or not, used to be a Thalmor Justiciar before becoming a decent elf! I swear, you could make world peace happen with all of these disparate peoples you’re bringing together.’

 

Fara blushed, brushing aside wayward strands of hair that had fallen out of her bun. ‘My story is… a little more complicated than that, ma’am, but thank you,’ she said meekly. ‘For… calling me a decent elf, I mean. Some of the ex-Stormcloaks at Sky Haven Temple think I’m some Thalmor plant.’

 

‘Not just the Nords, Fara, it’s Delphine, too,’ Eren called out, laughing. ‘Old bat has the right to be paranoid after twenty years of running and hiding, but the shit you had to do to get in – Hircine’s balls, it was ridiculous.’

 

‘Aww, don’t embarrass the womer,’ Thuban said, a touch stern. ‘Whatever she did in her past, let her put it behind herself. She serves me now, not the Dominion.’ Pulling on Queen Alfsigr’s reins, she slowed her horse down to wait for Anum-La, Rumarin and the Blades, gently ordering her to move again when their horses could trot alongside hers. ‘I, er, just wanted to say. About the ‘serving me’ situation. You’re all here at your own choice; should you ever feel like I get into too much danger for your liking – which I _will_ be doing when I join the Dawnguard, please keep in mind – you’re all free to leave, at any time. I don’t want people to die for me.’

 

‘Typical bloody Nords,’ Rumarin quipped, smiling at her. ‘Don’t want anyone to die for them, but they’re more than happy to run in front of an enemy’s sword for someone else.’

 

‘I’m only half-Nord, Ru,’ Thuban laughed.

 

‘Yeah, sure, the only Bosmeri things about you are the archery and the eating your enemies shtick, but go off, I guess.’ That gave Thuban some pause. True, she wore her hair in traditional Falinesti braiding, painted her face with Bosmeri-style warpaint and, until recently, had reddish-brown eyes only seen amongst the Bosmer, but her attitude and personality often reflected her Nord heritage more. Coming to Skyrim had only magnified this. Though with every day that passed since she’d returned from Sovngarde, whatever Thuban Swift-Arrow was dissipated like mist and in her place, Thurbah the _Laat Dovahkiin_ began to emerge, and it _terrified her_ –

 

‘Oh, shut it, Islander,’ Fasendil said snarkily, using a diasporic Altmeris term (often pejorative, from Thuban’s experience) for Altmer from the Summerset Isles. ‘I may as well be an Imperial in all but the physical, then, since I was born in Cyrodiil and joined the Legion.’

 

‘Well, _technically_ , you _are_ an Imperial, since ‘Imperial’ refers to everybody who’s from Cyrodiil–’ Rumarin paused when he saw Thuban’s amused, but unimpressed glare. ‘Shutting up.’

 

The rest of the first leg around the _Monahven_ was relatively quiet. After clearing Valtheim Towers of bandits, they took advantage of its now-empty beds and cooking spits and stayed overnight. The next morning, they rode across the border to Eastmarch, managing to make it to Darkwater Crossing before the sun went down. Annekke Crag-Jumper lived up to her byname when she spotted Thuban and her entourage ride into the tiny village, jumping in surprise like one of the Greybeards had come to visit.

 

‘Dragonborn! Oh, my, this is an honour!’ The middle-aged woman exclaimed. ‘Do you and your… companions need lodging? I’m afraid we don’t have enough beds to accommodate you – such is the state of a mining camp barely worth calling a village, heh – but since you folk might have tents, I will be more than happy to show you a good spot to camp.’

 

‘Sure, sure,’ Thuban said, smiling at Annekke. ‘Don’t worry about putting us up, friend. We just need a safe place to spend the night.’

 

‘Well, Darkwater’s not what I would call safe at the moment,’ Verner Rock-Chucker said wryly. ‘One of our miners, an Argonian called Derkeethus, went missing some time back. Popped out to explore the nearby pools in the Pass, and, well. Didn’t come back. Annekke thinks bandits got him.’

 

‘I sure hope not,’ Annekke said, sighing nervously. ‘He’s a good fellow. Hey, Dragonborn?’ she asked, looking at Thuban with hope in her eyes, ‘Would you and your companions keep an eye out for him? Tall Argonian, dark green scales, with curvy horns kinda like a ram’s. We’ll… we’ll pay good gold to get him back.’

 

Thuban held out a hand. ‘The gold’s not necessary, friend,’ she said. ‘I have to make my way to Fort Dawnguard, but should my travels take me through here again, I’ll make sure to find this Argonian of yours, no septims required.’

 

Annekke grinned. ‘See, Verner? She’s just like the stories say!’ She enveloped Thuban in a hug, kissing her on the cheek. ‘May the gods watch over your battles, Ysmir.’

 

‘And yours,’ Thuban said. ‘Don’t mention it. I’m the friendly neighbourhood Dragonborn; helping people is what I do.’

 

The third day of the journey was also relatively peaceful, the only problems the party encountered being the occasional bears. The stark pine copses, snow-capped crags and hot springs of Eastmarch gave way to the eternally autumnal forest of the Rift, whose trees sprouted leaves in brilliant shades of red and yellow and orange thanks to the wet weather of Rain’s Hand. Shor’s Stone was another tiny mining village, but yet again the only reprieve from hours of riding. Thuban and Fasendil used their Legion connections (and Fasendil, his former status as Legate Primus of the Riften First) to get the local guards, still being drafted from the First’s numbers, to share their provisions, since Shor’s Stone had no inn to spend dinner at and none of the party knew anybody in town well enough to take from the locals’ houses.

 

‘Gods, my arse is sore,’ Rumarin complained over the evening campfire. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever spent this much time at once just sitting on a horse. Hours upon hours of riding… ow.’

 

‘Thought you grew up with travelling performers, elf,’ Kaie laughed. ‘Didn’t expect you to bellyache about a little travel by horseback.’

 

‘He’s an Islander, I could spot it from a mile off,’ Fasendil said, smirking. ‘Hmm. Rumarin, are you from Auridon? Though the way you pronounce your vowels makes me think Summerset, around the Cloudrest area.’

 

Rumarin kept mum on the older Altmer’s comments, looking into his bowl of stew. ‘Hey, uh, just wanted to say thanks for the food, Thuban. What’s in here, bear meat? Yeah. Good stuff, I’d rather eat fresh food than hardtack shit. Though it could do with some flavouring other than salt,’ he said. ‘Then again, you _are_ a Bosmer. What do they even _use_ for cooking in Valenwood? Aedra’s mercy, adding some herbs or spices – sourced outside of your forests, of course – won’t hurt you.’

 

‘Just be thankful we haven’t come across any bandits yet,’ Thuban said wryly, ‘or these meat stews would have a ‘surprise’ in them.’ Seeing everyone but Kaie and Eren’s reactions had her almost double over in laughter. ‘Oh, I’m kidding, I’m _kidding_ , guys. Shor’s bones. Though hey, Kaie, Eren – you didn’t seem so shocked by my joke about my, uh, ‘humanitarianism’.’

 

Kaie smiled. ‘Namira is one of the Old Gods of the Reach. Eren here a priest of Hers, even,’ she said, pointing to her Forsworn brother’s tattooed face. ‘Them there are the markings of the clergy of Namira. Not one of Hers myself, but I respect and honour the Lady of Decay.’

 

Rumarin cringed at the mention of the Daedric patron of cannibals, though Thuban lightly punched his arm for it. ‘Fine by me. You Reach-folk can keep your gods when you join the Blades, by the way. Everyone can, regardless of who they are,’ she said resolutely. ‘As a Talos worshipper, it wouldn’t be right for me to forbid other people’s gods or tell them Who to worship when I’ve been in their position. Something Ulfric Stormcloak should have realised. Ah, well.’ That got chuckles out of the Forsworn in the party.

 

‘Why do you worship Him, anyway?’ Fasendil asked in curiousity. ‘Talos, I mean. I’m not trying to debate religion… simply wondering why a mer would venerate the God of Man.’

 

‘Well, I _am_ Bruman ,’ Thuban responded, her tone earning a smirk from Fasendil. ‘ Though aside from that… I’ve found Him to be a source of strength since I found out I was a Dragonborn. I mean, I do have grandparents on my mother’s side who were alive when He conquered Valenwood as a mortal, so I know He is n’ t a flawless paragon of heroism like Nords imagine Him to be, but… I don’t know if this would happen with the Greybeards or the Old Clan Tongues, _but…_ when I put on an Amulet of Talos, I can Shout clearer, faster, _better_. I feel like an otherworldly Presence is with me, to boot.’ Her hands unconsciously went to her collarbone, where Talos’ sword in miniature hung. ‘I don’t give a shit about His usual spheres of influence, in truth, but He’s helped me come to terms with being Dragonborn, and for that, I thank Him.’ A smirk stretched her own lips. ‘Besides, it pisses of the Thalmor.’

 

Fasendil laughed softly, though looked concerned at Thuban. ‘While you are quite fierce in battle, O mighty Dragonborn, I must remind you to be careful. You don’t want to piss off the Thalmor _too_ much. I hear some of the highest-ranking members of the Alinor government are bound for Solitude – stories are conflicting, but there was an attack at the Thalmor Embassy. So Elenwen sent for her fellow war criminals to come punish the perpetrators.’ He frowned nervously at this. ‘I pray to the Divines my cousins aren’t among them.’

 

Thuban’s eyes widened. ‘Oh, shit, you have cousins in the Thalmor?’ she asked in a hushed whisper. ‘Fuck me. What do they think of you, since you were born in Anvil, not to mention your parents’ decision to settle in Cyrodiil in the first place?’

 

‘They’re as negative about it as you’d expect,’ Fasendil said. ‘Though I’d prefer to save the family drama for another time. We should get some sleep; Kaie and I will be taking the next watch after Eren and Fara.’

 

Thuban nodded. ‘Yeah, let’s,’ she said. ‘Here’s hoping nothing happens during the night.’

 

-

 

‘ _Thuban Swift-Arrow!_ ’

 

She was pulled from Vaermina’s embrace so suddenly, her eyes didn’t have time to adjust. Rubbing sleep from them, she huffed in annoyance when she noticed that her nose was chilled to the bone. Anum-La, whose bedroll lay next to hers, shook her shoulder to try to wake her up.

 

‘Thu,’ she whispered, frowning at Thuban’s groan of protest. ‘ _Thu_ . I know it’s early, but you need to get outside. _Now_ .’ The Argonian finished equipping her armour and grabbed her sword and shield. ‘Vampires – fucking Hist, _there are vampires out there_.’

 

 _Vampires_ . Thuban froze in shock as she realised the sheer darkness of the camp, broken only by the softly-burning fire kept lit for the Blades to sit by for guard shifts. Casting a Detect Undead spell, she bit her lip to hold back a terrified yelp when it revealed a group of ten vampires. Sure, there was enough of them to take on the intruders, but they were in the queendom of Nocturnal, the light of Magnus barely colouring the sky inky-blue above the mountainous horizon. For now, the vampires would have the advantage. _We’re fucked_.

 

 _You have My blessing_ , Meridia cooed in her mind. _Take Dawnbreaker and purge the land of this filth. Go, now. Show these spawn of Molag Bal they cannot take My champions from Me_.

 

The Glister-Witch’s tone was reassuring enough for Thuban to slip on her road leathers as fast as she could and fasten Dawnbreaker to her belt. If it were a reasonable time in the morning, she would’ve grabbed her bow and arrows, but it was a great effort to even get dressed, so she took her chances and left the tent with Anum-La to confront whoever wanted to speak to her.

 

Volkihar vampires (and they _were_ Volkihar; Thuban recognised their signature armour, and a few of them were gargoyle-esque ‘vampire lords’) stood in formation on the road leading into Shor’s Stone. At the centre, a Colovian woman and Nord man who greeted her in a friendly manner.

 

‘Ah, the Hawk of Eastmarch’s get comes to us at last,’ the woman said with a smile. ‘Greetings, Thuban. I am Salonia Caelia, and this ungainly specimen next to me is Stalf.’

 

‘Hey–’ Stalf protested, before being cut off by Salonia.

 

‘You know, except for those… horns and eyes, you do look so much like your father,’ Salonia purred. ‘Anyway, let us cut the chit-chat. I assume you know Ari Swift-Arrow serves our Lord Harkon at Volkihar Keep in Haafingar.’

 

Thuban kept one hand on Dawnbreaker’s sheath. ‘Yeah,’ she almost spat. ‘What of it?’

 

‘Well, Harkon is a generous Lord, and when he welcomes a new childe into our family, he always offers for them to turn their mortal relations. Spouses, siblings, children, what have you.’

 

‘I think I know where this is going,’ Thuban sighed. ‘Father wants me to become a vampire again, but a ‘proper’ one this time, is that it?’

 

Stalf broke into laughter. ‘Gods, no! The man may as well piss on Molag Bal’s gift, that’s how much he _doesn’t_ want you to become one of us,’ he said, amused. ‘No, it is our Lord who wishes to turn you. You are Dragonborn; you would be a powerful asset for our Clan. The jewel in the Volkihar crown, our Lord said.’

 

Thuban screwed her face up in disgust. ‘Isn’t this Harkon the Bloody? The King of Solitude who sacrificed a thousand innocents to Molag Bal for a ‘special’ kind of vampirism straight from Him?’ she asked. Maybe due to her drowsiness, she felt brave enough to spit at the ground near the vampires.

 

‘Fuck him, fuck you, and fuck your whole gods-damned Clan for taking my father from me,’ she growled, unsheathing Dawnbreaker. ‘Meridia smite you.’

 

Salona hissed at her, but composed herself. ‘Lord Harkon does not wish for us to escort you by force,’ she said, unable to contain her anger, ‘but if you will not cooperate, halfling, then so be it.’ She faced the Volkihar standing in formation and grinned, predator-like. ‘Kill the other mortals,’ she commanded. ‘Leave the Dragonborn alive. Do not touch what is our Lord’s to take.’

 

‘Here we go!’ Kaie yelled, unleashing a storm of Destruction spells, taking care to cast more electricity and fire and less frost. Eren soon joined her, firing from a conjured bow. Anum-La took on enemies back-to-back with Fasendil, his Destruction magic providing ranged support for her sword-and-shield fighting. Rumarin arrived late to the fighting, stumbling out of a tent half-dressed, but nonetheless groggily conjured a blade and began hacking and slashing through the nearest vampire.

 

‘Some wake-up call, huh?’ Fara asked Thuban over the din of battle, weaving her hands to cast Telekenisis at a vampire lord charging at her with his claws bared. He was subsequently flung backwards, crashing into one of his comrades who was about to do some serious physical damage to Thuban. ‘You’re welcome, by the way.’

 

‘ _KRII LUN AUS!_ ’ Thuban Shouted at the pair, plunging Dawnbreaker into the one shifted into a vampire lord. Another swing of the sword removed his head from his body, which then burst into flames, setting the vampire underneath him on fire. She staggered backwards, her back hitting a tree trunk. Dawnbreaker still clasped in her hand, she mock-saluted Fara.

 

‘You bet,’ she wheezed, coughing from the smoke rising from the fire caused by her sword. It never failed to amaze her that it could actually _do that_ , actually set her enemies _on fire_ (the undead ones, anyway). Meridia was a terrifying Mistress, but She didn’t lack in theatrics.

 

‘Aaand they’re dead,’ Rumarin announced with one last shove of his conjured sword through Stalf. Well, not all of them. Salona charged at Thuban, fangs bared, but Thuban thrust Dawnbreaker through her chest. As the last vampire attacker burst into flames, Rumarin amended his statement. ‘Alright, _now_ they’re dead.’

 

‘Gods’ blood,’ Fasendil breathed, surveying the aftermath of the battle. Various vampires had been set on fire by Dawnbreaker and Destruction spells from himself, Fara and Kaie, and those who’d escaped _that_ particular grisly fate had instead met their ends at the point of Anum-La or Rumarin’s swords or Eren’s arrows. The Dragonborn and her party hadn’t escaped injury; Rumarin sported a fresh, violent wound where a vampire had dragged their fangs down his cheek, and Thuban tasted blood in her mouth from when she’d been knocked to the ground by another vampire, the memory of their boot on her head throbbing in pain.

 

‘Oh, shit,’ Rumarin muttered, his fingers fluttering across the wound on his cheek. ‘Oh, _shit_ , I think that blood-sucker used their fangs on me – hey, Thuban, isn’t that how you got turned into a vampire? Back in Potema’s catacombs?’

 

Thuban nodded, grimacing at Rumarin’s injury.

 

‘ _Aedra_.’ Rumarin’s conjured sword disappeared into Oblivion as he fumbled around in his satchel for a poultice. ‘Can we, uh, go to the Temple of Mara in Riften before we go sign up with the Dawnguard? ‘cause for all the rumours about vampirism enhancing sexual charisma, I’d rather not be undead around a champion of Meridia. Your crazy Daedric Prince might take offence to it.’

 

Thuban sheathed Dawnbreaker; she’d wipe the stains of battle off it later. ‘Hey, it’s no problem, Ru,’ she said, smiling. ‘Let’s… let’s take a break, _geh_. This was… certainly a fight and a half.’

 

It made her _dovah sos_ sing, but she chose not to mention that.

 

-

 

 _Fort Dawnguard is an hour’s ride from Riften, my arse_ . While their detour through the city to cure Rumarin of _Sanguinare Vampiris_ did cost them an extra day of travelling, Thuban couldn’t see anything resembling a fort amongst the trees of Dayspring Canyon in the distance.

 

‘At this point, we may as well cross the border into Morrowind,’ Fara quipped from the back of their trail of horses. ‘Just where is this bloody Dawnguard hideout?’

 

‘Shor, Kyne and Tsun, we’ve come _this_ far. Don’t give up on me now.’ Thuban sighed and used her reins to direct Queen Alfsigr into Dayspring, the tall, sheer cliffs bordering the road looming over them.

 

After half an hour of riding, they emerged from the crevice into a mountainous canyon. And nestled amongst the highest crags, a collection of stone towers with paths connecting to a magnificent castle.

 

‘So, this is Fort Dawnguard,’ Anum-La mused, drinking in the sight of the ancient stronghold. ‘Thought it would’ve fallen into disrepair by now. The people who’ve revived the Dawnguard must be hard at work.’

 

A gaggle of burly Orsimer crowding Durak over by an archery range confirmed her suspicions. The former Vigilant was showing them how to shoot a crossbow, an ‘enhanced’ bow the Dawnguard developed that Thuban had heard rumours about in Riften. She waved to him as the party rode past, which earned a tusky grin from him. ‘Told you the Dragonborn would be coming, boys!’ he yelled triumphantly. ‘Good to have you on our side, Swift-Arrow!’

 

‘Good to be here!’ she yelled back.

 

‘Stables are up in the castle, near the main entrance. Isran should be inside; go talk to him to get started. Godsspeed!’ Durak then returned to showing the Largashbur warriors how to avoid the recoil from a crossbow. Thuban returned her own attention to the road, spotting a pale, lanky Eastmarcher standing by the canyon’s central lake. Armourless and weaponless save for a rusty-looking axe, it seemed like he didn’t really want to be there. Dismounting, she walked up to him and smiled warmly.

 

‘Hey, are you alright?’ she asked in Eastmarch Nord, hoping to soothe his anxiety with (what she presumed was) the familiar. ‘You look lost.’

 

The man turned around; he stared at her like he’d seen a troll. ‘Oh! Oh, yeah, I’m fine. It’s… nothing,’ he replied in the same dialect. ‘Hey there! You here to join the Dawnguard too?’

 

 _Alduin end me, this guy thinks he can be a vampire hunter?_ Thuban thought. He barely looked capable of fighting off some bandits.

 

‘Either that, or I took the wrong turn at the Morrowind border,’ she joked, extending a hand for him to shake. ‘Thuban Swift-Arrow.’

 

‘Uh, Agmaer,’ Agmaer said, shaking hands with her. ‘No honour-name for me, unfortunately. Ma said I could earn one in the Dawnguard. I hope so!’ He was almost the picture of the ancient Falmer; his feather-soft, silver-blonde hair and light, blue-grey eyes likely came from various Snow Elf ancestors. All he needed was pointed ears. ‘I have to say, it’s an absolute honour to meet the Dragonborn! Umm, so… truth is, I’m a little nervous. I’ve never done anything like this before. I hope you don’t mind if I walk up with you.’

 

Thuban couldn’t help but look at him sympathetically. Not everyone was nursed on war and raised by death like she’d been. Nodding, she said, ‘Of course! It’s no trouble. I’ll have my Blades stable our horses.’ Motioning for Anum-La, Rumarin and the Blades to take Queen Alfsigr up the path to the Dawnguard stables, she smiled at Agmaer again. ‘Let’s go.’

 

It was a lengthy walk to Fort Dawnguard, so she and Agmaer had time to swap backstories. While she didn’t drop the ‘Sheogorath is my Mother’ truth bomb, Thuban mentioned just about everything else. Agmaer’s life had, gods bless him, been a lot less eventful; he came from Kynesgrove farming stock, and until Alduin had raised Sahloknir from the dead last year, there’d been ‘no tales worth telling’, in his own words.

 

‘Hey, uh, don’t tell Isran I was afraid to meet him by myself. Not the best impression for a new vampire hunter, I guess,’ Agmaer said when they neared the castle, hand clasped around the hilt of his axe.

 

 _He’s going to be chewed up and spit back out by the night_ , Thuban thought. _Tsun, mighty Whale, shield-thegn of Shor, please keep Agmaer Eriksson safe_ , she silently prayed.

 

‘Why do you want to be a vampire hunter, anyway?’ Thuban asked, minding her tone was soft.

 

Agmaer ran his free hand through his hair. ‘I heard what’s going on. The vampires, the Dawnguard, all of it. I wanted to help, so here I am,’ he said, trying to sound determined. ‘You’ve probably killed lots of vampires, huh? I’m sure Isran will sign you right up. Not sure he’ll take me. I hope so.’

 

 _I hope so too. You need to bloody that axe of yours_.

 

‘I haven’t killed _that_ many vampires, friend,’ Thuban laughed. ‘Anyway, looks like we’re getting close.’

 

Fort Dawnguard was even more impressive in person; the imposing stone walls of the castle betraying its original purpose to contain a Jarl of Riften’s vampire son. It was clear that nobody was meant to come in or out without permission from the Dawnguard prowling its towers and guarding its gates.

 

‘Wow… it’s bigger than I expected,’ Agmaer murmured in surprise, stopping a moment to admire the view. ‘I thought Isran had reformed the Dawnguard? This place looks almost deserted.’

 

‘Almost deserted, boy,’ a voice called from the gates. It belonged to a tall Breton man with dark colouring, adorned in the Dawnguard armour Thuban had seen Durak wearing. He studied her and Agmaer with a bird of prey’s curiousity. ‘New recruits,’ he mused in a Wayrest drawl. ‘Here to join the Dawnguard? Good. Isran will decide if you’ve got what it takes. Go on, he’s right inside.’

 

Agmaer wiped his palms on his tunic, wincing as he looked at Thuban. ‘I guess this is it. Wish me luck.’ He darted inside, past the Breton, though Thuban decided to be a bit more sociable.

 

‘I’d think the Dragonborn would have ‘what it takes’ to hunt vampires,’ she said with a smirk. Though it sounded more like Thurbah talking, not Thuban. She stopped herself from thinking about the implications. ‘Thuban Swift-Arrow. Maybe you’ve heard of me.’

 

‘Celann Ackerman, and yes, I have,’ Celann said, amused. ‘I’ll tell you, the only thing more surprising than hearing from Isran after all these years was hearing that he wanted my help. I immediately realised things must be pretty bad. Looks like he’s right.’

 

Thuban crossed her arms and gazed in the direction of the stables, waving at her companions as they finished tending to their horses. ‘Friend of yours?’ she asked Celann. ‘I take it you’ve worked with him before.’

 

‘I have,’ he said. ‘There was a time, years ago, when we were both members of the Vigilants, and both equally dissatisfied with them. Their hearts are in the right place, of course. But Isran and I were never comfortable. We left together, but that partnership didn’t last very long. I didn’t agree with some of his methods.’

 

‘This isn’t setting him up to be a particularly pleasant fellow,’ Thuban said wryly.

 

Celann chuckled. ‘He’s alright once you get used to him. Now go on, go. Get to your date with destiny, Dragonborn.’

 

Rolling her eyes, but smiling, Thuban waited for Anum-La, Rumarin and the Blades before walking through the entrance to Fort Dawnguard.

 

-

 

Isran ibn-Rostem turned out to be an athletic-looking Redguard with an impressive beard, also kitted out in Dawnguard armour. An even more impressive two-handed axe hung from his back, occasionally glinting in the evening light filtering through the castle windows. He was deep in conversation with a Vigilant priest, deep enough to not notice Agmaer, Thuban or Thuban’s entourage come inside.

 

‘Why are you here, Tolan? The Vigilants and I were finished long ago,’ he said to the middle-aged Riftman.

 

‘You know why I’m here,’ Tolan replied, ‘the Vigilants are under attack everywhere. The vampires are much more dangerous than we believed.’

 

Isran scoffed. ‘And now you want to come running to safety with the Dawnguard, is that it?’ he asked, his deep voice turning harsh. ‘I remember Keeper Carcette telling me repeatedly that Dawnguard is a crumbling ruin, not worth the expense and manpower to repair. And now that you’ve stirred up the vampires against you, you come begging for my protection?’

 

 _Yeah, he’s definitely not pleasant_ , Thuban thought.

 

Tolan wringed his hands. ‘Isran, Carcette is dead,’ he managed to say. ‘The Hall of the Vigilants… everyone… they’re all _dead_ .’ The poor man seemed to be holding back tears. ‘You were right, we were wrong. Isn’t that _enough_ for you?’

 

That softened up the Redguard.

 

‘Yes, well...’ he began, ‘I never wanted any of this to happen. I tried to warn all of you… I am sorry, you know.’ He hung his head in apology, then noticed Thuban by the entrance.

 

‘So this is the famous Dragonborn; and some of the Blades, too. It’s an honour. Now, what do you want?’

 

‘I’m here to join the Dawnguard,’ Thuban said, offering him a smile. ‘Don’t mind the fangs; I caught _Sanguinare Vampiris_ a while back, but I, uh, got myself cured.’

 

‘Yeah, sure, I know about Falion in Morthal,’ Isran said. ‘Any of your friends here to join?’

 

‘Not my Blades, but Anum-La and Rumarin expressed their interest, yeah,’ Thuban said, indicating to the Altmer and Argonian behind her.

 

‘Yes, sir, vampire hunter sir,’ Rumarin piped up. ‘Gold, glory and the opportunity to get rid of those nasty, undead sods who attack travellers on the road? I’m all for it.’

 

Isran’s lips half-moved into an amused smile. ‘Well, you won’t be getting any gold or glory while we’re restoring the fort. I do have a job that the Dragonborn and friends could handle, though, if you want to take it.’

 

‘Sure thing,’ Anum-La said, grinning. Thuban nodded in agreement.

 

‘Very well,’ Isran said. ‘I need someone out in the field, taking the fight to the damn vampires while we’re getting the fort back into shape. Tolan was telling me about a cave some of the Vigilants were poking around in. Seemed to think it was...’ he trailed off, looking at Tolan to finish his sentence.

 

‘Dimhollow Crypt, in the Pale, south-west of Dawnstar,’ Tolan confirmed. ‘Brother Adalvald was sure it held some long-lost vampire artifact of some kind. We didn’t listen to him anymore than we did Isran. He was at the Hall when it was attacked...’ He pulled out an Amulet of Stendarr from under his Vigilant robes and held onto it with both hands.

 

‘Right.’ Isran looked back at Thuban and her party. ‘Go see what the vampires were looking for in this Dimhollow Crypt. With any luck, they’ll still be there.’

 

‘I can meet you there, Dragonborn,’ Tolan said quietly. ‘It’s the least I can do to avenge my fallen comrades.’

 

‘You sure a Vigilant is properly trained for such a mission?’ Isran asked with a laugh.

 

Thuban glared at him. ‘The man’s in mourning, Isran. As are you, though you’re doing a good job at not showing it,’ she said sternly.

 

‘You sure can read ‘em like a book, eh, Dragonborn?’ Isran put his hand under his chin and studied her intently. ‘Fine, take Tolan along with your merry band of adventurers. Just bring back information on whatever it is the blood-suckers are after.’

 

‘Aye-aye,’ Thuban said, mock-saluting him. Tonight, they would settle in. Tomorrow, they rode for the Pale.


	6. Awakening

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bookmarks, comments and kudos give me the drive to write <3 Thank you to everyone who's shown their interest!
> 
> Rumarin and Anum-La the Swamp Knight are from the mod Interesting NPCs. Auri is from the fantastic mod Song of the Green <3

‘I’m coming with you, my Thane, and nothing you can say will change my mind.’

 

Hands on her hips, Thuban sighed and stared at Lydia. ‘Lyd, it’s been months since you had to call me ‘Thane’. It’s… I know we broke what we… _had_ off, but… still.’ She found it hard to stay mad at her former housecarl for long. Even when Lydia had ended their brief relationship because she thought Thuban would die any day from her duties as a ‘doom-driven hero’, they maintained the friendship they’d had before (then again, she’d inducted Lydia into the Blades; it would be hard to give her a cold shoulder when she saw her on the regular). ‘You told me you didn’t want to be with someone who could perish at a moment’s notice from dragons or daedra or – _whatever_. You said neither of us would want that anxiety, and you were right. I don’t.’  Her eyes drifted up and down; it was sad, she thought, that Lydia usually hid herself under layers of chainmail, because this simple tunic and pair of leggings she had on now really showed off her toned figure. She caught Lydia drinking her in in turn, and it took all her self control not to smirk. ‘I know we chose to just be friends again, but I... I don’t want you to get yourself killed for me. Loosing you would be unbearable.’

 

Lydia tucked her side braid behind her ear. ‘My Th– Thuban, I’m one of your Blades. I swore an oath to protect the Dragonborn. Until some other Dragonborn comes along, that’s you,’ she said quietly, but resolutely. ‘I can’t  stay at Sky Haven Temple and do  _nothing._ Yes, you already have a squadron  you’re taking  with you, but what’s one more Blade for protection?’ she asked, smiling with hope. Looking behind Thuban, she squinted curiously at a small, lithe Bosmer, armed to the teeth and similar to Thuban in looks, who was trailing after her. ‘Admirer of yours?’

 

‘You could say that,’ The Bosmer said with a chuckle. ‘I’m Auri. I’m just a mercenary marksmer who wanted to meet the Dragonborn for myself, not much else to tell.’

 

‘I picked Auri here up in Riften,’ Thuban said, smiling at her new acquaintance. ‘Paid her good coin to come along as a bodyguard on our way to the Pale, though she’s insisting on delving into Dimhollow Crypt with me like you are. Gods, why do you all _want_ to face this monstrous shit? Vampires and everything else I have to deal with. _Maar grah!_ Let me take care of it for you! Haha,’ she laughed nervously, hoping her companions wouldn’t notice.

 

‘Can’t let the mighty Dragonborn have all the fun, now, can I?’ Auri asked, grinning. Lydia had seen Anoriath and Elrindir grin like that before, after returning from a hunt in the Whiterun plains. Small and unassuming as they were, Bosmer had a deadly edge to them that she couldn’t help but find unsettling.

 

Thuban folded her arms. ‘ Hmph, you two are hard deer to field dress. Fine. Since we did come all this way to Sky Haven  to stock up  on supplies, there should be no harm in bringing some extra muscle too, ’ she said wryly, ‘and Auri, you can come into Dimhollow Crypt with me  as well , but please be careful, alright? I don’t want  either of  you dying on my  watch .’

 

‘I won’t, Dragonborn,’ Auri giggled. Her sweet, lilting, high-pitched voice betrayed her likely savageness in battle, Lydia mused. ‘I told you, sister, we’ll be fine.’

 

‘We’ll be facing vampires,’ Thuban intoned, frowning. ‘Not just any vampires, but Volkihar vampires, based on Vigilant Tolan’s description. They’re ‘pure-blooded’, so they’re far more powerful than the usual wretches who attack folk on the roads at night.’

 

She rummaged in her tunic pocket and produced two Imperial Cult Amulets of Stendarr, a ‘welcome to the Dawnguard’ gift from Isran. She handed them over to Anum-La and Rumarin, who were both suited up in Dawnguard armour. Anum-La stared at the amulet in amused confusion before shrugging and pocketing it. Rumarin nodded in quiet acceptance (unusual for him) and undid the clasp to hang it around his neck.

 

‘Anu and Ru here chose to join up with the Dawnguard of their own volition. They know what they’re getting into; Isran gave us quite the education on the Volkihar a few nights ago. Auri, Lydia, all of you– ’ Thuban waved her arms around at the Blades milling about in Sky Haven’s main hall. ‘–you’re not vampire hunters, or aspiring vampire hunters like us. You don’t have to stick your necks out… nevermind, that was a fucking terrible metaphor.’

 

‘Don’t give up your day job, Dragonborn!’ Ralof yelled from the stone bench nearest the door to the living quarters, earning a wave of laughter from the trainees sitting next to him. Thuban winked at the blonde Whiterunner and continued her speech (of sorts).

 

‘Alright, fucking terrible metaphors aside, what I’m trying to say is that if you didn’t sign up to kill vampires, you don’t have to do it now just because of me. Please don’t come to Dimhollow Crypt tomorrow if you don’t feel like you’re able to take on pure-blooded vampires, okay? I want you all _Sanguinare Vampiris_ -free and very much alive.’

 

‘And that, Thuban,’ Esbern said, ‘is why they will follow you anywhere.’ 

 

T he aging Nord hobbled into the main hall from the living quarters slowly, leaning on his cane more than Thuban had seen him do before. She gave him a concerned look. ‘Have you come down with something, Esbern?’

 

‘Oh, no, my dear, don’t worry about me,’ Esbern half-spoke, half-muttered. He glanced at Thuban with wide, reverent eyes. ‘You are a miracle to behold, do you know that, Thuban Swift-Arrow? Here in this temple, you have gathered together people who, outside, would be at each other’s throats. Forsworn and Imperials and Stormcloaks and even Thalmor, their different allegiances put aside, united under your banner.’

 

‘I’m pretty sure they’re here for the Dragonborn, not Thuban Swift-Arrow,’ Thuban countered with a frown.

 

Esbern simply smiled.

 

‘Look, you old goat, I’m not some reincarnation of Tiber Septim, or Martin Septim, for that matter,’ Thuban sighed. ‘I’m not here to rebuild the Empire or single-handedly kick the Aldmeri Dominion’s arse. I’m just here to put a stop to idiots who think they can bring about the end of Mundus.’

 

‘Which is what Saint Martin did, centuries ago,’ Esbern said, eyes glittering.

 

Thuban dragged her palm down her face. ‘Ah, I won’t argue with you.  _Unslaad krosis_ . I…  it’s getting late. I have a lot think about. I should… probably head off to bed.  _Geh_ .  _Zu’u vulon praan_ .’

 

‘I’ll be joining you there soon myself,’ Anum-La said. ‘I’d prefer to be bright-eyed and shiny-scaled when we explore this crypt. Sounds like it’ll be a challenge.’

 

‘That it will be,’ Thuban agreed. In the back of her mind, dark omens of what they were yet to come across stirred.

 

-

 

The journey from Sky Haven Temple into Morthal was blessedly swift, taking half a day. _Kyne watches over our venture_ , Thuban mused as she booked rooms for her entourage at the Moorside Inn in the afternoon. _Sister-Hawk_ _O_ _n the_ _W_ _ind, patron of Clan Swift-Arrow, please keep my s_ _word_ _-_ _siblings_ _safe against the thralls of darkness._

 

‘Sure you folk wanna be going up to Dimhollow Crypt?’ Jonna, the innkeeper, asked with concern, sorting through the pouches of gold Thuban had given her. ‘It’s down the way from that shrine to Mehrunes Dagon, where all sortsa shady Daedra-worshipping types make pilgrimage. Heard it used to be a Daedric shrine itself, to Molag Bal, who’s gotta be the worst Prince of ‘em all. ‘The King of Rape’, blergh. The vampires can have Him, in my opinion. No respectable person would wanna worship a thing like _that_.’

 

‘I’m with the Dawnguard,’ Thuban assured her, ‘as are Anum-La and Rumarin. We’re here to kill the vampires crawling across the place; we heard they’re scouting it out for an ancient artifact of some kind. The Blades are here because, well. I’m the Dragonborn. They insisted.’  
  
Jonna gave her the same reverent look Esbern had the night before. ‘Well, if the Dragonborn’s here to deal with the vampire menace, then Akatosh be praised!’ she said jubilantly. ‘Tell you what, you and your Dawnguard and Blades get a discount on beds. My treat, for you lot saving us from those bloody monsters.’

 

Thuban sighed. ‘Oh, dear, you don’t have to do that,’ she said softly.

 

‘I insist, Dragonborn,’ Jonna said. ‘It’s the most I can do for the saviour of Skyrim, if not all Tamriel.’

 

‘Okay, okay, very well,’ Thuban chuckled. ‘We’re tipping you, though, you beautiful woman,’ she said, winking.

 

The Redguard innkeeper blushed. ‘Oh, you,’ she murmured.

 

After the inn’s evening meal of porridge, bread and mead (Auri and Thuban kept the Green Pact with the meat of a group of bandits who’d accosted them at the Hjaalmarch border, though shared in the mead to wash it down), Thuban sat down with Anum-La, Auri, Lydia and Rumarin to discuss their strategy for Dimhollow Crypt. The rest of her Blades squadron would keep watch outside the entrance, busting inside in the event they were compromised by any Volkihar they’d inevitably encounter. She insisted on all five of them having at least one enchanted piece of gear on their person, in addition to a blessed amulet of any god to provide extra protection. Fara offered to enchant their armour (‘It’s the most I can do if I’m going to be on sentry duty while you risk yourselves in there,’), and after a comment about the differences between religion in Black Marsh and the rest of Tamriel, Anum-La produced what she called a ‘lucky charm’ from her crossbow bolt pouch – a tiny skull made of some kind of gemstone, with a blood-red handprint across it.

‘Never found much of a reason to hail Sithis since leaving the Marsh; maybe it’s His lucky day, eheh.’

 

Finishing off her mead, Thuban had a vision appear in her mind’s eye that gave her pause. A brilliant golden bow with intricate decorative carvings was strung by a gaunt Snow Elf. The arrow he had nocked was made of the same shimmering material as the bow, but there was something… _wrong_ about it. Something _profane_ (Where in Y’ffre’s name were _those_ feelings coming from?). It looked like it’d been dipped in blood – _somebody_ ’s blood – the crimson liquid drip-dropped from it ever so slowly, seemingly corrupting both the arrow and the bow ( _How_ –). The Snow Elf turned to face Thuban, flashing the illuminate eyes of a vampire at her before aiming his bow at the sun, its arrow piercing Auri-El with an unholy shriek. The sun had just began to spew out dark red and black energies when a voice brought her back to reality.

 

‘Hey, so, uh, if you’re gonna space out like that on us, Thu, at least do us the favour of rambling about whatever predictions for the future you’ve got,’ Rumarin quipped, stuffing a small chunk of bread in his mouth.

 

Thuban shook her head, taking a deep breath. She looked up at Rumarin, then the rest of her companions, forlornly. A gut feeling told her she shouldn’t share the details of her vision. At least, not now.

 

At the back of her mind, Thurbah growled, _t_ _his timeline_ _shall_ _not_ _be made manifest_ _._ It offered little hope.

 

-

 

‘You know, when Tolan told us he’d meet us at Dimhollow Crypt, I didn’t think he meant to be dead when we got here.’

 

Thuban elbowed Rumarin in the ribs for that comment. ‘Shhh,’ she hissed. From the party’s hiding place in the shadows, she looked back at the unfortunate Vigilant; splayed face-down in the dirt, blood pooled on his torso and trickled onto the ground below. His death had been recent, though he’d gone down fighting, praise Stuhn. The bodies of a pair of vampires lay nearby, their own blood oozing out of deep, harsh wounds Tolan had made with his warhammer. Another pair of vampires, likely having got there after the fighting was over, were remarking on Tolan’s courage to attack them alone.

 

Thuban grunted in frustration. For fuck’s sake, couldn’t he have waited for her, Anum-La and Rumarin to get there before charging in? She blinked away tears. She’d barely known the Riftman, but he’d seemed nice enough, for a Vigilant. Now he was dead. At least he would be able to reunite with his Nord compatriots in Sovngarde.

 

Her fingers tightened around her crossbow in anticipation. Eren and Fara had enchanted all of their crossbow bolts with Destruction magic, so they would explode in fire when they hit their target. With how casually these vampires were talking about what they were going to do to the next unwitting mortal who stumbled inside the crypt, she wanted to charge at them, fangs bared, Thu’um ripping through her throat. But she’d planned for the party to slip in, slit out, avoiding any unnecessary encounters with vampires. Find what they’re looking for, then get the fuck out–

 

_Do not leave a single undead abomination in this crypt standing, My champion_ , Meridia intoned.

 

Thuban sighed. Fuck it.

 

‘Attack on my signal,’ she whispered, sneaking into position. Thankfully, the vampires weren’t alerted by the shuffling of feet, unsheathing of swords and preparing of crossbows. By the time one of them turned in their direction, Thuban sprung at them with a Shout.

 

‘ _YOL-TOOR-SHOL!_ ’ Fire streamed from her mouth and enveloped both of them, lighting up the aptly-named crypt. The vampires had little time to respond before bolts from Anum-La and Rumarin and an arrow from Auri pierced them. Another round of bolts, and it was done. The vampires’ flesh crackled as it burnt, sending a rather horrid stench into the air.

 

‘Auri-El’s mercy,’ Rumarin said, wafting it away with a frown.

 

‘Well, no one ever said His mercy extended to the undead,’ Thuban intoned, the Snow Elf from her earlier vision appearing in her mind’s eye again. Biting her lip, she banished him from her head. She had other, more immediate vampires to worry about. She knelt down by Tolan’s corpse, pulling his Amulet of Stendarr over his head. ‘I… it doesn’t seem right to leave it here, in a shrine to Molag fucking Bal.’ Pocketing it, she craned her neck to look at Lydia. ‘You want his warhammer?’

 

‘Thuban, I couldn’t–’

 

‘It doesn’t seem _right_ to leave his stuff here,’ Thuban repeated, sorrowful.

 

Lydia nodded. ‘Very well. I brought my katana, of course, though I can lug that thing around as well. It should have some good Restoration magics attached to it.’

 

‘I, uh… _geh_ , _geh_ , the Vigil is usually good with Restoration enchantments.’

 

By Meridia’s command, Thuban led Anum-La, Auri, Lydia and Rumarin in a bloody charge through Dimhollow Crypt, cutting down every vampire, draugr and death hound they came across. Remembering her Lady’s fight against Molag Bal during the Planemeld, she decided that Dawnbreaker would be a fantastic tool to defile this ancient space of His, so made ample use of the blade alongside her crossbow. _Let Him come for me_ , she thought. _Let him face my Mother’s wrath, let alone Meridia’s._

 

Eventually, they reached a short door made of rotting wood; an unseemly entrance to a cavern thrumming with achingly old magic, circles of moss-spattered stone pillars in the centre. In the centre of _that_ , a vampire whose thrall referred to him as Lokil interrogated yet another unlucky Vigilant of Stendarr.

 

‘I’ll… tell… you… nothing!’ the Vigilant spat. Thuban had to admit, he had one Oblivion of a spine to say that to a vampire holding him prisoner. ‘ _Nothing!_ ’

 

‘I believe you, Adalvald,’ Lokil purred, unleashing frost magic on the Vigilant to send him to his death. ‘We have what we need anyway.’

 

Thuban paused. _That was Brother Adalvald? The guy mentioned by Tolan? Shor’s heart…_

 

Mourning could wait. They had vampires to dispatch; Thuban counted at least two, aside from the thrall who she sensed was in a state between life and undeath. Gesturing for Anum-La, Auri and Rumarin to fire upon the enemy, she cocked her crossbow, sized up her prey, and let a bolt loose at Lokil. It exploded on contact, the flames jumping to his thrall. Several more shots, and the chamber was clear for them to investigate.

 

‘Oh, for fuck’s sake,’ Rumarin exclaimed upon seeing the elaborate puzzle on the chamber floor. ‘Even vampire Nords have these fucking ridiculous brain-teasers guarding their shit. Look, it’s a great way to hide stuff, I commend them for it, but it’s quite annoying when you’re a grave robber and just want to get your hands on some loot.’

 

‘Speaking of which, the artifact the Volkihar were looking for should be here,’ Thuban mused, stroking her chin. ‘I can feel it.’ She didn’t know _how_ , she simply… knew. The _dovah sos_ had its benefits, she supposed.

 

‘Maybe we have to move the braziers?’ Lydia suggested.

 

Thuban nodded. ‘Right, sounds like a plan. Let’s get to it.’

 

Minutes later, a pedestal emerged from the chamber floor. Everyone there had been in enough trap-filled ruins to be slightly hesitant, though Thuban stepped forward and volunteered to fiddle with it. To nobody’s surprise, the pedestal produced a spike that punctured her hand. She let out a pained scream, but held her tongue to lift her injured appendage off the pedestal when she saw the puzzle lock drop into a winding set of stairs around her. To add insult to injury, a sarcophagus rose from where the pedestal had stood moments ago.

 

The vampires weren’t looking for some _thing_. They were looking for some _one_.

 

Cradling her bleeding hand in the other, Thuban jumped back in shock when the sarcophagus lid opened to reveal a tall, slim Nord woman with pin-straight black hair and deathly pale skin. She fell onto the ground, lifting herself to her knees; Thuban noticed she had a scroll-case on her back which pulsed with the energy of Aetherius like an – _Elder Scroll, how in the gods’ names does she have an_ Elder Scroll –

 

The woman stared up at her in confusion, and despite her undead pallor and vampiric eyes, she was the most stunning woman Thuban had ever seen.

 

‘ _Unh_ … where is… who sent you here?’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> '...and that, kids, is how I met your mother.'


	7. Bloodline

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Isn't writer's block fun? Sorry about the delay.
> 
> Thank you to everyone who bookmarks and/or leaves comments and/or kudos <3 Love you all, you're my motivation :)
> 
> Rumarin and Anum-La are from the mod Interesting NPCs; Auri is from the mod Song of the Green.

‘ _Unh… where is… who sent you here?’_

 

Thuban composed herself, fingers on the trigger of her crossbow. As attractive as this vampire was, Meridia was probably going to yell at her to ‘finish the job’ any time now.

 

‘Isran, of the Dawnguard,’ she tried to say in a forceful manner. ‘You have moments to live.’

 

The vampire looked at her in confusion. ‘The… Dawnguard?’ she asked, brushing dust off her elegant robes. ‘They sound like vampire hunters, yet…’

 

_She must have been in here a long while_ . ‘Did you get put in that thing before the Second Era?’ 

 

‘Second Era?’ For a woman who’d spent the past few thousand years in a sarcophagus, she looked and sounded as fresh as the day she’d been stuffed inside. Her voice was music to Thuban’s ears; a lilting, rich song she wished she could always hear – _alright, enough of that_.

 

Thuban smiled at her sympathetically. ‘Okay, so, uh, this is going to be a bit of a shock,’ she began, ‘but three eras have past since you were in here.’

 

‘Wow, I don’t think I’ve ever met a person who’s thousands of years old before,’ Rumarin mused. ‘See, Thuban, _this_ is why I insist you take me with you on your save-the-world adventures; your life is something out of a bloody mythology book.’

 

The vampire squinted at Rumarin, as if she were trying to understand him. ‘What… what language was that?’ she asked Thuban.

 

_Now I’m confused_ . ‘Common Tamrielic,’ Thuban replied, slowly, just as confused about the situation. ‘It’s… what I’m speaking to you. How do you understand me, but not him?’

 

Somewhere in the depths of her mind, one of the dragon souls she’d consumed over the past half-year whispered to her about  _Bormahu_ and the  _Vennesetiid_ and the nature of the  _dov_ , but it just gave her more of a headache.

 

She shook her head. ‘Nevermind,’ she said, loosening her grip on her crossbow trigger.

 

‘Dragonborn,’ the vampire said reverently, studying her horns with intense curiousity. ‘You are Dragonborn.’

 

_Here we go..._ ‘Well, yeah, if the appearance wasn’t a giveaway,’ Thuban quipped.

 

‘Maybe that’s why you can understand me, and I you,’ the vampire said. ‘Maybe.’

 

‘Maybe.’ Thank Kyne, that exchange was relatively short.

 

The vampire  smiled at Thuban warmly, or as warmly as a vampire could smile, anyway. ‘My name is Serana,’ she offered by way of a greeting. ‘And while this… little party of yours is nice, I was expecting someone… like me, at least.’

 

‘Thuban,’ Thuban said with a grin, showing off her yet-to-dull fangs. ‘I did catch vampirism once, but I got cured. So I’m your ambassador to this brave new world in more ways than one, it seems, eheheh.’

 

Serana laughed, and it sounded like the delicate bells of a Summerset windchime. ‘Good to know,’ she said. ‘Now, about the man who sent you. Isran, from the… Dawnguard, was it?’

 

‘ _Geh_ , the Dawnguard,’ Thuban said. ‘Vampire hunters. Isran is our leader. _Bah kriid_. ’  
  
Serana clasped her hands together and stared at her with wide, curious eyes. ‘You even speak like a Tongue! My, this is an honour,’ she intoned before shaking her head. ‘But that can wait. If people are after me, there’s something bigger going on. I can help you find out what that is.’

 

T huban nodded, glancing the scroll-case on Serana’s back. ‘Well, whatever it is, you’ve gotten yourself mixed up with  _qostiid_ , and for that, you have my condolences.’

 

‘ _Qostiid?_ Hmm, I swear I remember this from the language studies Mother made me do… is that Dragon-Speech for ‘prophecy’?’

 

‘ _Geh_.’ Thuban breathed deeply as she felt the magic of the Elder Scroll Serana was carrying. The  vision of the Snow Elf vampire corrupting the sun with dark magic appeared in her mind again; _great, so that motherfucker was more than just the creation of my overactive imagination. Fucking fantastic_.

 

‘Hmm.’ Serana studied Anum-La, Auri, Lydia and Rumarin, each of them appearing a touch nervous when meeting her glowing bronze-gold gaze. ‘You’re right, it is something like prophecy. It’s… complicated, and I’m not totally sure if I can trust you enough to talk about it. But if you want to know the full story, help me get back to my family’s home.’

 

‘Family’s home?’ Thuban’s dragon blood was _screaming_ at her now, wailing in abashed terror. _Niid! Vulond sunvaar! Harkon Volkihar seeks to subjugate us–_

 

_Come on, I doubt this woman has anything to do with Harkon–_

 

_Mey! Ruth mey! See her robes, the Deyra corruption in her eyes; this is one of the Volkihar Daughters of Coldharbour!_

 

_A daughter of_ what  _now?_ Thuban wondered why she couldn’t have been given the ability to predict, say, Imperial Arena matches, or  the success of new alchemical creations, instead of… whatever this bearshit was.  _Look, brain, please shut the fuck up for now and let me do this escort mission_ .

 

‘Alright,’ Thuban said, offering Serana a friendly smile. ‘Where do you need to go?’

 

‘My family used to live on an island to the west of Solitude,’ Serana said, smiling back at her, her fangs poking through her lips. Butterflies flapped around Thuban’s stomach at the sight. ‘I would guess they still do.’

 

Thuban thought back to when she, Rumarin and Anum-La had broken into Northwatch Keep to rescue Thorald Grey-Mane from Thalmor torture. When they were travelling along the Haafingar coast, they’d seen a looming, ominous castle on an island in the distance; she’d thought nothing of it at the time, but that bad feeling she’d gotten every time she looked at it turned out to be justified, it seemed. And if her clairvoyance was right, it was the very large and elaborate ‘nest’ of the Volkihar vampire clan.

 

 _Another day, another date with death_ , she thought, amused. _I wonder if Nocturnal’s luck will run out for me now that I’ve ‘fulfilled’ my ‘purpose’?_ While she didn’t quite enjoy having her ‘dragon soul’ claw and scratch its way through her skin, creating a new Thuban she could see taking over any day now, she was concerned about what would happen if she did die. Tsun Sky-Whale had promised her a place in Sovngarde, and she _had_ met another Dragonborn, Friđa Grey-Mane, in Shor’s hall, but Friđa had not been destined to defeat Alduin. No, Thuban had a feeling that Auri-El had something ‘special’ in mind for her upon her death. Whether it was to be reincarnated like Indoril Nerevar, brought back to Tamriel when it next needed someone to save it from shit of its own making, or ‘awarded’ divinity like Talos, stripped of everything that made her _her_ and made to keep _Bormahu_ at sword-point lest He uncoil,  she wouldn’t be dying in peace. 

 

‘Er, Thuban?’ Serana asked in an amused tone. ‘Still here?’

 

Thuban shook her head. Fuck, why did this keep happening?  Maybe Paarthurnax was rubbing off on her.

 

‘Ah, uh, yeah,’ she said. ‘I think we know where your family’s home is, right, guys?’ she asked Anum-La and Rumarin behind her.

 

‘Don’t tell me, it’s the dark, foreboding castle we saw on that island near Northwatch,’ Rumarin said with a sigh. ‘Of fucking _course_ it’s a vampire lair. Of _course_. See, I’m always told that ‘Real life is nothing like a storybook’, but the more I adventure around Skyrim, I’m finding that it _is_.’ He chuckled, rolling his eyes.

 

Serana squinted at Rumarin again. ‘I’m going to have to learn  some ‘ Common’  on the way , aren’t I?’

 

‘ _Geh_ ,’ Thuban said.

 

‘This should be fun,’ Serana chuckled expectingly.

 

-

 

After the party’s bloody rampage through Dimhollow, leaving the crypt was a good deal easier than entering it. They made a brief stop at a surprisingly-placed _rotmulaag_ (what was _that_ doing at a shrine to Molag Bal?), which called to Thuban like a basket-charmer’s flute to a snake,  like they always did. Serana stared in enraptured awe as she splayed her palm across a particular word that was lit up aetherial-blue. No sooner did her hand make contact with the ancient stone, the same light pooled around and seeped into it, twirling around her arm, surrounding her shoulders and then enveloping the rest of her body. Thuban fell to her knees as it sank into her skin, her hand trailing down the word wall. A few moments later, she was back on her feet, dusting herself off like nothing had happened.

 

‘ _Gaan_ ,’ she breathed, her voice somehow more resonant, tinged with a magic that made Serana’s hair stand up on end. ‘Stamina, I believe. The wall showed me… visions, of people having the… their energy drained from them. I think it’s meant to be used in a Thu’um.’

 

‘So now you can steal people’s life force from them,’ Anum-La said wryly, ‘if sending them flying, sending _yourself_ flying, shouting fire, and changing the weather  just by yelling wasn’t enough for you.’

 

‘Hey, look, I don’t make these Shouts, all I’m doing is learning them,’ Thuban protested, smirking.

 

Serana was confused at Anum-La like she’d been at Rumarin, so she turned to Thuban. ‘How can you be so… casual about that? What you just did?’ she asked in hushed awe.

 

Thuban kept up her smirk. ‘Serana, I’m a Dragonborn. I do  this every other Tirdas .  No sweat. ’

 

Serana nodded slowly, folding her arms. ‘Right. It’s just… I heard stories about Dragonborn heroes and kings and whatnot when I was a girl, but I… never thought I would see one for myself,’ she said. ‘Again, it’s an absolute honour to meet you, Thuban.’

 

‘Likewise,’ Thuban said, her smirk turning into a smile. ‘Please, you yourself are a powerful, old-as-fuck, pure-blooded vampire. I haven’t exactly _wanted_ to meet one of you, to be honest, but it’s... fascinating, and you’re... nice and not-wanting-to-drain-me-dry enough, I guess.’

 

Serana looked at Thuban in a way that made blood rush to her cheeks. ‘I’ll take that as a compliment.’

 

The rest of the way out was spent in silence. When they reached the entrance to the crypt, Thuban stepped out of the shadows to greet the Blades on guard. Serana put her hand to her eyes to shield them from the rays of afternoon sun streaming in from outside.

 

‘Alright, weapons down, the vampire’s with me,’ Thuban said, frowning at Fasendil in particular’s insistence on keeping his katana unsheathed.

 

‘Dragonborn,’ Fasendil insisted, ‘You must understand that after the incident at Shor’s Stone, we can’t afford to compromise your security. The most powerful vampire clan in Skyrim is after you. And she,’ he said, vaguely gesturing at Serana, ‘looks like some kind of ‘princess’ of theirs.’

 

‘Funny you should say that,’ Thuban said wryly. ‘This is Serana Volkihar, daughter of Harkon the Bloody and Valerica the Death-Witch.’

 

The usually-composed former Legate looked like a deer in torchlight. ‘Auri-El have mercy.’

 

‘She’s been locked away in Dimhollow Crypt for at least three thousand years; well before Reman’s time, so the invention of Common Tamrielic passed her by. Please don’t use that as an excuse to make snide comments about her vampirism, thank you very much; I’ll be translating whatever you say that concerns her.’

 

Fara moved to catch Fasendil in case he fainted, a smirk on her lips. The small, slender Bosmer placed a hand to the taller, more muscular Altmer’s back. ‘We have three Green Pact-honouring Bosmer, a Forsworn priest of Namira and a conjurer in this little party of ours; surely you can handle the presence of a vampire, no?’ she asked.

 

‘Right,’ Fasendil said softly, eyes staring into the distance in fear. ‘Of course.’

 

They made camp on the slopes of what Palemen referred to as ‘Mehrunes’ Mountains’, which not only housed Dimhollow Crypt, but another ancient ruin called Frostmere Crypt, a doom-stone (The Lord Stone, from what some locals had told them), and, of course, the towering, admittedly impressive shrine to Mehrunes Dagon, Whose statue sat astride its mountain summit like it was His throne. Thuban had to wonder how on Nirn this one particular spot in a backwoods remote region of Skyrim could attract so many people to build holy places (for lack of a better word) amongst its rocks and snow. Then again, Saarthal had been built in even more isolated, threadbare conditions, but the ancient Falmer had spent significant military power to attack it all the same. _The minds of mortals are a mystery_.

 

_Alright, you can get out of my head now, Mirmulnir_ , Thuban thought with an exasperated sigh as she helped Auri pitch their tent (made of hides, furs and bone rather than linen and wood like the others’; as inconvenient as having a traditionalist Bosmer in her travelling party was at times, it helped keep her close to Y’ffre ). 

 

_You consumed my soul,_ mal Dovahkiin _, so you are left with me_ , Mirmulnir whispered. Most of the dragon souls she’d consumed had eventually faded away, gone back to  _Bormahu_ to be reborn, but a few remained in her conscience. Mirmulnir was one, Sahloknir another. They  brought terrifying alien instincts to the fore of her mind – a dragon’s instincts, not those of a tiny mortal with a tiny, fleshy, expendable mortal body. She was concerned that one day, she’d forget just how weak her physical form  really  was  against all these gods and monsters she kept finding herself going against, and Tsun would make good on His promise to let her into Sovngarde.

 

_Okay, fine,_ fine _, but I’d appreciate if you didn’t give me a running commentary on –_

 

Thuban’s train of thought was interrupted by a sharp jolt of pain that ran from her hand and up through her arm. Coming to her senses, she balked at the consequences for letting her mind wander while she was working – she’d accidentally hit her fingers holding a  tent pole with a rock she was using to, well, hit the tent pole. Thankfully, only her thumb and index finger had been hurt, but  _how_ they’d been hurt, oh, Mara have mercy,  _how_ she’d hurt herself –

 

The fingernails on her thumb and index finger were gone.

 

Somehow, they’d been ripped off, laying in the dirt-strewn mush of snow by her knees in a bloody mess. The blood, gods preserve her, the _blood_ – it wasn’t much, thank Y’ffre, but that it was there, that _blood was coming from where her fingernails should be_ –  
  
_Well, at least the tent is pitched now._ _Orin brit ro!_  
  
As Thuban dismissed the wry tones of Thurbah from her mind,  she felt Serana creep up behind her. Gooseflesh appeared on her skin in the vampire lord’s presence; she knew she could be trusted, but primal instincts were primal instincts.

 

‘Everything alright?’ Serana asked quietly, her (unusually luscious, for someone who’d been locked underground for thousands of years) inky-black hair falling over her shoulders as she looked down at Thuban. ‘Sorry, I – I smelt blood, and I was wondering what–’ Blinking, she did a double take when she saw Thuban’s hand. ‘–oh, my, that’s not good.’

 

‘Understatement of the Fourth fucking Era,’ Thuban muttered through clenched teeth. She didn’t want to alert Auri, who was putting the finishing touches on the front of their tent, or the rest of her company, the Blades in particular. If she raised her voice, they’d want to sling her over a horse and ride non-stop to get her to the nearest healer, a day’s journey away in Morthal. As good as they were to have by her side in combat, the Blades tended to treat her like a priceless artifact because of her Dragonborn status. She’d told them in no uncertain terms that plenty of her ‘royal blood’ had already been shed across Skyrim (this line had earned a chuckle from Delphine), and that she was competent enough in Restoration to mend any non-life-threatening injuries she might sustain, but Esbern was insistent. Because she was a potential claimant of the Ruby Throne, a Dragonborn who could restore the Blades to their former place and revive the Empire, even a scratch against her skin should be taken as an affront against Akatosh Himself, according to him. It was all a load of tosh, if you asked Thuban. At least Delphine, Eren and Kaie agreed with her there.

 

Thuban pulled her Amulet of Mara out from her leathers, presenting it to Serana. ‘Don’t worry,’ she said weakly, ‘I – I know Restoration. It… it won’t put the nails back, but it should staunch the blood flow.  Give  me time to  recover . ’ It took all of her strength not to howl in pain. How in Y’ffre’s name had  her nails been ripped off, anyway? The most that should’ve happened was her fingers taking a bit of a bruising. Something felt…  _wrong_ .  Like  there was… magic at work,  almost.

 

‘Alright,’ Serana murmured, smiling at Thuban. She smiled back, hoping she wasn’t blushing again. Oh, gods, was she developing _feelings_ for her? A vampire _?_ Meridia didn’t speak to her often, but if she chose to follow where Mara was leading, she had a feeling her Lady would be having stern words with her. It’d happened once, after she’d been infected with _Sanguinare Vampiris_. She didn’t want to evoke the wrath of a Daedric Prince again.

 

_You have only just met this_ vulonah _, yet you wish to take her as a mate?_ Sahloknir  whispered in her mind with an amused tone.  _Mirmulnir is right,_ Dovahkiin _, the minds of_ joore  _truly are_ vomindok.

 

_Okay, if you don’t get out of my head_ right now _, I will –_ Thuban stopped herself, s cowling . There was no use in fighting a battle she couldn’t win. Returning the smile to Serana, she began performing the necessary Restoration incantations to close the wounds on her hand.

 

‘We’ll be at Morthal in a day’s ride,’ she said as her uninjured hand weaved its way through casting gestures, surrounded by the gold-and-silver light of Restoration magic. ‘Our best bet is to stay there overnight and ride to Solitude in a carriage–’ glancing at the Blades contingent sitting around their campfire, she sighed. ‘–alright, _two_ carriages, at least – the morning after. Once we’re in Haafingar, I suppose you can lead the way.’

 

‘Morning, eh,’ Serana thought out loud, biting her lip. She didn’t look pleased about that. ‘Ah, no, don’t mind me; you’re all mortals, while I’m the lone vampire. I’ll deal with it.’ She pulled up the hood attached to her armour and grinned toothily at Thuban. ‘It was enchanted by my mother to negate the effects the sun has on our kind. Gods, that must have been... a lifetime ago, thinking about how long I’ve been underground.’

 

‘A few mer lifetimes, I’d imagine,’ Thuban said with a wink, which made Serana chuckle. Her chest felt light as a feather. ‘Alright! I’ll finish up here and join you lot in a bit.’  
  
Serana nodded and left to sit with Anum-La, Auri, Rumarin and the Blades. Watching her go, Thuban clutched her Amulet of Mara and said a quiet thank-you prayer to the Wolf Mother for allowing their paths to cross. It seemed like both of them were unfortunate victims of destiny, so even simply being friends, she felt, would help each other immensely. A companion of any kind helped to ease being doom-driven. Thuban could only hope, though, that she wouldn’t impart her doom onto people who didn’t deserve its burden.

 

-

 

_I am going to scream at the next shrine to_ Bormahu  _we find_ .

 

It was early in the morning, still too early for but the faintest light of her soul-father to creep through the tent flap, but in the pale dawn, Thuban could make out the outline of very different hands than the one she went to sleep with.

 

The rest of her fingernails had somehow fallen off in the night; she’d felt them scattered around her bedroll, which had made for quite the rude awakening. In their place were dragon-like claws, protruding from her fingers in a bloody mess, looking far too big  for her fingers to have grown naturally. The skin around them had hardened, turned  scaly like a  _dovah_ ’s. Ghosting a thumb over her new appendages, Thuban shuddered when she felt them to be hard as dragon bone, much like her horns were ( _ since when did  those horns  become a mundane thing, it’s not, oh gods what the  _ fuck  _ this is not  _ normal–).

 

‘Dragonborn?’ Auri murmured, still mostly wrapped in Vaermina’s embrace. She sat up, rubbing sleep from her eyes, which then widened in fear when she saw Thuban despairing over her hands. ‘By the Green...’ she muttered.

 

‘Yeah, so, uh,’ Thuban stammered, trying to keep her voice down. ‘Yeah. This happened, I guess. Overnight.’

 

Auri reached over to take Thuban’s hands in hers. ‘I knew the Drag o nborn was Bosmer when I heard you had dragon’s horns,’ she said softly, staring at Thuban’s claws with a shocked gaze. ‘I do not know what ‘consuming’ dragon souls is like, but your blood i s  clearly reacting to it.’

 

‘You fucking think,’ Thuban muttered, frowning.

 

Auri smiled sympathetically. ‘ When Y’ffre gave us our mortal forms, She  probably  did not expect there to be Bosmer vampires, or werewolves, or… Dragonborn,’ she said. ‘His magic that keeps us from changing our shape will… not work  well  with, ah, how do I put this? Foreign influences.’

 

‘Right,’ Thuban said, taking a deep breath.

 

‘Don’t worry, Dragonborn,’ Auri giggled. ‘I don’t think you’re going to turn into a _proper_ dragon. But you can’t have all those dragon souls in your belly – if that’s where they go when you eat them, eheheh – without there being some… changes. Too much magical energy.’ She ignored Thuban’s mournful whine and continued, ‘Now, mighty hero, I think we ought to prepare for the journey to Morthal, yes?’

 

Thuban hung her head, then nodded. They had to move. News of her cutting through Volkihar in Dimhollow like a knife through butter would reach Harkon, and then his hunt for her would begin in earnest. She’d almost lost some of her Blades during their fight with his lackeys in Shor’s Stone, so she didn’t want to test her luck and have to bury any of her comrades on the roadside. She’d take Serana to that castle she’d seen on the Haafingar coast, see _why_ , exactly, she wanted to deliver an Elder Scroll into the hands of a man (if Harkon could still be called such) who wanted to ‘end the tyranny of the sun’, and then she’d cross whatever bridge she got to after that. She had to get back into her save-the-world mindset. She would just have to bottle up her feelings and let them out unhealthily after the fact, when ordinary folk could live in peace again.

 

_I am Ysmir, Dovahsebrom. My people need me_ .

 

The rest of her escort mission to Haafingar was blessedly quiet. Rumarin chimed in with some snarky comments on Thuban’s claws, but the rest of her retinue seemed to regard them as yet another ‘Dragonborn thing’, thank Y’ffre. By the end of the second day, they were standing on the coast near Northwatch, the setting sun lighting up Volkihar Keep in the distance in shades of pink and red and orange. Serana had told them of a dock she remembered from her days at the castle, Icewater Jetty, that the Volkihar had used to travel to the mainland and back; Thuban was just about to clamber inside a creaky, rotting rowboat tied up to the dock when Serana turned to her companions and Blades.

 

‘They can’t come.’

 

It wasn’t a forceful request, but the vampire’s nervous tone implied it would be a bad idea to go against her wishes.

 

‘And why ever not?’ Lydia cut in, unsheathing her katana with a confused glare. ‘We are sworn to protect the Dragonborn–’

 

‘You come with us, you’ll all be turned into cattle,’ Serana said through clenched teeth. ‘My family are the progenitors of the most powerful vampires in Skyrim. If I really have been asleep for thousands of years, they would have only gotten more stronger. Haven’t you heard the legends about Volkihar? I–’ She put her hands on her hips and frowned at the party. ‘Look, I know this sounds like I’m luring the Dragonborn into a trap, but trust me, I’m not. I’ll keep her safe while I have a... heart-to-heart with my father, if I can.’

 

‘Why does Thuban get to go with you, then?’ Rumarin asked, only half-joking. ‘I mean, sure, she _was_ a vampire for like, a _week_ , and I think she still has fangs from it, but–’

 

Serana held up her hand, her frown turning upwards into a smirk. ‘Because she’s the Dragonborn, of course,’ she said wryly. ‘Unless anyone else here can set people on fire or freeze them just by shouting, she’s the only one I trust to be capable of leaving the castle alive.’

 

‘Sounds rational enough,’ Anum-La said, nodding at Serana. ‘Just bring her back to us in one piece, alright? Skyrim would be a much duller place without her around.’

 

Thuban couldn’t help herself; she threw her arms around Anum-La. ‘Love you too, shield-sister.’

 

‘’course,’ Anum-La chuckled. ‘Now go kick vampire arse.’

 

‘We’re there to talk, not fight,’ Serana sighed, but with a smile. Glancing over to Thuban, she jabbed her thumb at the boat. ‘Let’s go.’

 

Insisting on rowing to distract herself from the sense of sheer dread that was creeping into her mind the closer they got to Volkihar Keep, Thuban felt glad to not have to see the castle draw ever closer to her and Serana, ominously rising above the dark, icy waters of the Sea of Ghosts. It would only make her anxiety about the place worse. Just before they reached the rocky outcrop under the Keep, Serana broke the silence that had characterised their boat ride until then.

 

‘Hey, so… before we go in there...’ The vampire was still nervous, but she tried to hide it in her voice.

 

‘ _Geh_?’ Thuban asked, tilting her head to the side. ‘Are you alright?’

 

‘ I think so,’ Serana said, deliberate with each word. If a millennium-old vampire was concerned about going into this castle, the foot soldiers Harkon had sent after her were but a taste of what was to come. ‘And thanks for asking.’ She motioned for Thuban to slow down her rowing, as they’d approached the Keep’s dock. ‘ I know your friends would probably want to kill everything in here. I'm hoping you can show some more control than that. Once we're inside, just keep quiet for a bit. Let me take the lead.’  An ancient  barnacle-encrusted boardwalk loomed over the boat, and then they stopped. They’d arrived.

 

Every last one of Thuban’s instincts screamed at her to  _bolt_ ,  _run away_ ,  _go_ ,  _you are walking right into the hungry maws of predators_ , but she  pushed through them to climb out of the boat on shaky legs. Besides, why was she afraid? She was Thur-bah,  _Dovahkiin_ , vanquisher of Alduin World-Eater and she would not fall to these  _vulonah mey_ who arrogantly think they can take  _her_ –  
  
_This is what I mean by ‘forgetting I’m a tiny, puny, fleshy mortal will get me into trouble’, brain_ , Thuban thought with a scowl.  _Keep an arrow nocked, but don’t start any shit_ .

 

She carried her bow in one hand as she and Serana walked across a  stone  bridge  flanked by gargoyles  leading to the castle gates. She almost fired an arrow at a n elderly thrall posted as a guard  before Serana began talking to him in Old Nord. He responded excitedly, babbling in a mixture of Old Nord and Common about her ‘return’ as he opened the gates for  them.

 

T he exterior of the Keep had  made Thuban anxious,  but the interior set all of her nerves on fire. Her  _dovah sos_ wailed at her furiously, visions involving vampires, that strange Merish bow and a bloody, corrupted sun spewing out dark magic flashing before her eyes.  _Faaz nah! You have willingly entered the clutches of Molag Bal!_ As she and Serana walked through the achingly old hallways, she picked up the overwhelming stench of blood  and guts nearby. She crinkled her nose in disgust.

 

‘We’re near the Great Hall, then,’ Serana said wryly. ‘Don’t worry, most, if not all mortals who enter it have the same reaction. My family feeds on their cattle in there. It’s… not the most pleasant place.’

 

‘You’re fucking telling me,’ Thuban growled.

 

H er heart near-skipped a beat when an Altmer vampire approached them at the entrance to the Great Hall. Tall and imposing,  clad in elegant crimson armour,  he would be the very picture of the Volkihar from legends were it not for him being mer. His  burnished  gold gaze swept over Thuban like a predator would size up prey.

 

‘How dare you trespass here,’ he snarled, his lips curling up to reveal his fangs. Then he noticed Serana. ‘Wait… Serana? Is that truly you? I cannot believe my eyes!’

 

Serana offered the other vampire a faint smile. ‘It’s been too long, Vingalmo.’

 

Vingalmo brushed what could only be barely-visible dust off his armour. ‘That it has, my dear,’ he purred. ‘Your… mortal companion... can be excused, given that she matches the description of the ‘Last Dragonborn’. I believe Lord Harkon wishes to  bring her into the fold, so this encounter is most fort uitous indeed.’

 

Serana made a move to ask him why her father wanted to  turn Thuban  into  a vampire, but Vingalmo  had already left to announce their presence to the Great Hall. ‘My lord! Everyone! Serana has returned!’

 

_Now I’m fucked_ . Salonia and Stalf  _had_ mentioned that Harkon wanted her to ‘ join the family’ freely, though she had a  hunch that the man who’d sacrificed a thousand innocents in Molag Bal’s name wouldn’t take no for an answer when she was right in the  heart of his domain. 

 

Thuban’s chest tightened as she remembered that she’d left Dawnbreaker with Lydia, back on the mainland. She was a champion of Meridia,  but she was only one of many. Without Her blade on her hip, the Glister-Witch would not offer her protection here.  _Yeah, I’m fucked seven ways to Sundas_ .

 

‘I’ve got your back,’ Serana whispered, briefly taking hold of Thuban’s hand to give it an encouraging squeeze. Thuban blushed furiously at the act before taking a deep breath, straightening her back and striding into the Great Hall with Serana, bow still in hand.

 

That it wasn’t a pleasant place was a grievous understatement. The cavernous ‘dining room’ of the Volkihar Clan stank from the numerous ‘cattle’ laid across the lengthy tables. The mortal victims all had their chests or stomachs carved open, blood, bones and internal organs spilling out around them. Many of them were still alive despite this, tethered to Nirn by unknown magic Thuban preferred not to ponder about, their defeated moans ringing throughout the room. For every cattle, there was a vampire busy feeding, sating their thirst in a rather animalistic manner for creatures who claimed to be above their ‘thin-blooded’ kin. While the majority of the Volkihar were Nords, every race of Man and Mer was represented; Thuban even saw an Argonian and a Suthay-raht Khajiit among them. The thought of an evil vampire lord being less racially prejudiced than Ulfric Stormcloak was amusing enough to help take her mind off the assault to her senses.

 

Seeing Harkon in the flesh, though,  was anything but amusing. 

 

The ancient Nord’s presence was like the coldest winter night personified. He wore the same crimson armour as Vingalmo, though touched up with the usual fancy bearshit kings and jarls often wore to show off their station. His long dark hair was tied away from his face, which bore the mark s of ‘ progressed’  vampirism – an unnatural slit ran through his lip, and his nose had twisted to resemble a bat’s.  If that didn’t sound warning bells for someone, then his eyes certainly would – more than just the burnished gold of his progeny, looking into them was almost like looking at Molag Bal Himself. All the Lord of Domination was, His cruelty, His brutality, it was all there in his gaze. And it utterly terrified Thuban.

 

‘I see there is more than one family reunion happening tonight,’ Harkon said with a smooth-toned but menacing drawl. ‘Thuban Swift-Arrow, the Last Dragonborn. You have come to be united with your father, just as Lord Bal intends.’ The vampire’s eyes shifted to the nearby table, from where a painfully familiar auburn-haired man was looking straight at her with a mixture of shock and surprise. ‘See, Ari? I told you she would accept my gift.’

 

Ari Swift-Arrow, former Legate Primus, husband of the Champion of Cyrodiil and the father who she’d never expected to meet again, took a hefty swig from his goblet before speaking.

 

‘Thuban, sweetheart,’ he said softly, his voice bringing back a flood of memories, ‘Just know that I… I had nothing to do with this.’ His eyes darted between her and Harkon, and he tensed up like he was about to be called out for his words.

 

Harkon dismissed him with a wave of his hand. ‘Bah. Ignore my childe; he still acts like a mortal. Ah, well. They all change, with time.’ Vingalmo and another Volkihar, this one a redheaded Nord, sounded off their agreement from the shadows. It made Thuban want to bolt out of there as fast as she could.

 

‘Now, to other, more important business,’ Harkon drawled, eyeing Serana with curiousity. ‘My own long-lost daughter returns at last. I trust you have my Elder Scroll?’

 

Serana huffed in disappointment, frowning. ‘After all these years, that’s the first thing you ask me?’ she asked, frustrated, but sad. Thuban wondered why she’d expected an, again, evil vampire lord to be different. ‘Yes, I have the Scroll.’

 

‘Of course I’m delighted to see you, my daughter. Must I really say the words aloud?’ Not that they helped convince present company that Harkon actually cared for Serana beyond her usefulness in fulfilling prophecy. ‘Ah, if only your traitor mother were here; I would let her watch this reunion before putting her head on a spike.’

 

_That explains why Valerica the Death-Witch isn’t here_ , Thuban  thought . It w as inevitable for a couple as fucked-up as them to  have turn ed on each other eventually. The question was, where was Valerica? Serana had dropped hints about family drama on their way to Solitude, so something must have happened – a long, long time ago, from a mortal perspective – to  tear  the Volkihar  asunder.

 

‘Truly, this is a fortunate night,’ Harkon said cheerfully, or at least as cheerful as an _evil vampire lord_ could be. ‘You have come back to me, dear Serana, and with  an Elder Scroll, no less. Despite the… rumours I have heard from the Rift, the Last Dragonborn enters our court of her own accord. Yes, this is quite the stroke of good luck.’ 

 

‘I,’ Thuban began, but the words stuck in her throat. She was too frozen with fear to speak properly. ‘I’m just here because – Serana –’ _Dammit, Thuban, get it together before–_

 

‘Of course you are, Dragonborn, I can see it in your eyes,’ Harkon said with a chuckle that sent a shiver down her spine. ‘Now, as I understand you know what we are, I will get straight to it. Before tonight, I had already pondered about making you the latest addition to this court; we’ve never counted a Dragonborn among our ranks, you see, so I am intrigued by the idea of obtaining such raw, divine power for myself and my childeren. However, now that you have done me a great service, you must be rewarded. And, of course, there is but one gift I can give that is equal in value to the Elder Scroll and my daughter.’ He bared his fangs, and Thuban wondered if this was what the last moments of the deer before it was struck down by the wolf felt like. ‘I offer you my blood.’

 

This was an offer in nothing but name, however, as Harkon took advantage of Thuban’s fear keeping her in place to snake his arms around her and expose her throat, sinking his teeth into her jugular so deeply that it was violating. She grew limp from having the life sucked out of her, her senses slowly clouding as Vaermina’s realm approached. The last thing she would recall from before she became knocked out was Serana’s arms leaning her head against her chest, dragging her away, wet crimson trailing in her wake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) ( ͡o ͜ʖ ͡o) ヽ༼ ͡☉ ͜ʖ ͡☉ ༽ﾉ (☞ຈل͜ຈ)☞
> 
> I finished writing this chapter at ten to five in the morning, so excuse any issues. I might edit it later.


	8. Don't Deal With the Daedra

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Rises from the grave*

Sheogorath was not having a good day.

 

Well, to say ‘not having a good day’ was putting it lightly. She understood Her host body belonged to the Champion of Cyrodiil, but did that mean She had to be accosted by every Aedra and Daedra Who wanted Her to pull the strings of Their puppets on Nirn? She was on _holiday!_ She’d made it quite clear with the notice She’d nailed to the doors to Her palace; She was taking a leave of absence to visit Pelagius Septim III, a dear old friend of Hers, and She’d be back in time for tea on the first Middas in Midyear. Sure, Her host wanted to attend to Her mortal husband and mortal child and mortal concerns, _blah blah blah_ , but They both knew Her main reason for visiting Skyrim’s capital city, and it wasn’t to save reality from being undone or any such Shezzarine nonsense. She just wanted to catch up with a friend. And this Et’Ada and Magna-Ge were getting the way of Her itinerary. Not even Akatosh coming to Her in the guise of Her host’s beloved Martin Septim could cheer Her up.

 

Still, Sheogorath was a generous Mad Goddess, so she offered Her accosters some small talk whilst She poured Herself a glass of Colovian brandy, before serving Akatosh one (Hopefully sweet Martin would appreciate Her gesture there).  
  
‘Do you know why this… delightful little tavern is called The Winking Skeever?’ She asked, wheedling. ‘I heard from the fellow who mans the counter that when he was a boy, he used to have this pet skeever who… winked! Geddit? A _winking skeever_? It sounds quite silly, then again, Who am I to judge?’

 

Even in Her guise of an Ayleid womer, Meridia’s gaze blazed with the blinding light of Her Coloured Rooms. Sheogorath gave her a ten out of ten for dramatic effort. Meridia glared at Her as she furiously ran a finger around the rim of her mug.

 

‘My Champion has fallen to vampirism,’ She almost _growled_ , at least as much as it was possible for Her pretty guise to ‘growl’, ‘and since she is Your child, You are responsible.’

 

Sheogorath laughed, a full-on belly laugh that made Her throw Her head back, shaking Her moon sugar-white curls. ‘Haha, that’s a good one!’ She said in-between peals of laughter. ‘I’m the Daedric Prince of Madness, dear, not the Daedric Prince of micromanaging the lives of Akatosh’s Dragonborn – because need I remind you, Thuban is _His_ child, in truth.’

 

Meridia maintained Her blazing stare. ‘You are not the only one to have birthed a demiprince,’ She said, a touch more softly. ‘I would be able to tell Darien Gautier apart from any of these mortals. He was not just a vessel for My light, he _was_ My light.’ Her gaze became wistfully nostalgic before She turned back to Sheogorath. ‘Thuban is Your madness made manifest on Nirn. In truth, perhaps I should have considered the consequences of taking on a child of Sheogorath as a Champion. For an eradicator of the undead to fall into undeath herself… it is truly maddening indeed.’ She took a sip of Her Shimmerine brandy, Her eyes lit up with righteous anger once more. ‘I would commend You for Your child’s profaning of My sphere; it was well executed, I must admit. However, I desire to put My fist to Your face too greatly to offer you congratulations.’

 

Sheogorath laughed again, elbowing Akatosh in the ribs. ‘Get a load of this One, Martin!’ She said. ‘She thinks I deliberately had Thuban turned into a vampire by Molag Bal’s pet to spite Her! _Hah!_ That’s a good one! And I thought _I_ was Oblivion’s best comedian!’

 

Akatosh winced at Her.

 

‘‘Molag Bal’s pet’, as you call him, has given Thuban more than just a disease,’ He said gently, holding Her shoulder. ‘It is vampirism gifted to Harkon by the Lord of Domination Himself. Like lycanthropy, My Dragonborn cannot be fully bestowed this. Their souls are draconic, not mortal. The Daedric corruption cannot overpower them as it does with ordinary mortals, so their bodies become a battleground between Aetherius and Oblivion, one that neither can win. I have seen scant few Dragonborn be given pure-blooded vampirism, or turned into a werebeast for that matter… all have died, or become grievously injured, from the transformation process.’

  
Sheogorath’s Aureal eyes disappeared, replaced by the light green Bosmeri eyes of Her host. Her hair returned to its mortal tones of dark, reddish-brown.

 

‘ _What?_ ’ Rigel hissed, grabbing the collar of Akatosh’s robes.

 

‘I said,’ Akatosh murmured, looking at the Champion of Cyrodiil sympathetically, ‘The scant few Dragonborn I have seen be given pure-blooded vampirism have all died or become grievously injured from the transformation process. I’m sorry, Rigel–’

 

Rigel closed her eyes, huffing air through her nostrils. ‘Fuck,’ she muttered, taking a swig of her Colovian brandy. ‘Fuck, fuck, _fuck_ . Bloody fucking Harkon – bloody fucking Molag Bal – of _course_ He would happily help His pet destroy Nirn , since He’s probably still bitter about His last attempt at that failing! I’m gonna fucking flay His ‘vampire lord’ and hang his corpse from the White-Gold Tower , which is where I put Mannimarco’s after he tried to fuck with the Mages’ Guild, if you want to know – _why does Bal not get the message that He_ _should stop trying to_ _mess with_ _this world_ –’

 

‘Rigel,’ and it was not really Akatosh who said this, but Martin, _her_ Martin, ‘Thuban still lives. Well. She’s suspended between life and undeath, but she is still tethered to Mundus. Since the currents of Time show her ending not only Harkon’s plot to end life on Nirn, but the tyrannical rule over Tamriel that Miraak, the First Dragonborn, would begin if he were to escape Apocrypha, not to mention a Thalmor Justiciar called Ancano’s gamble at unmaking reality… I am not going to gather her to My breast just yet. She will survive this.’

 

Fuck it, that was Martin’s voice, Martin’s sky-blue eyes looking into hers once more… it wasn’t him, but it _was_ him at the same time. Rigel leaned into Akatosh’s side, huddling against His shoulder, wiping tears from her eyes.

 

‘But You said that if Dragonborn didn’t die from becoming a pure-blooded vampire, they become ‘grievously injured’ by the transformation process,’ she muttered. ‘Is there… anything I can do?’ she looked up at Him, and her eyes flashed Aureal-gold for a brief moment.

 

‘I lost My first child, my lovely, sweet Gatekeeper, what seems like a mortal lifetime ago, but oh, what a tragedy it was!’ Sheogorath lamented. ‘What would this realm do without My second babe? My little Dragonborn? They’d fall into disarray, is what they’d do! Oh, the chaos! The calamity! Do you, God-Emperor, want to abandon Yours and Lorkhan’s experiment so soon? It’s not even time for its next iteration, for goodness’ sake! Surely there is a way to salvage this situation!’ She pushed the sweetroll She’d stolen from the innkeeper’s desk in Akatosh’s direction. ‘I’ll split this with you, perhaps?’

 

Akatosh chuckled. ‘Actually, I have a… better trade in mind.’

 

Rigel’s presence returned to the eyes of the leather armour-clad Bosmer curled up against Him.

 

‘Thank you,’ she whispered. Akatosh couldn’t help but smile warmly at her; even after two centuries of playing host to a Daedric Prince, she was still the same Hero who’d helped Martin Septim to save Tamriel. ‘What is it?’

 

‘My sphere has been desecrated,’ Meridia protested with a scowl. ‘I cannot abide–’

 

Akatosh dismissed Her with a wave of His hand.

 

‘As You Two know, when My blood still flowed through the Emperors of Tamriel, there were always multiple Dragonborn alive at any one time – the Emperor, or Empress, and their heirs,’ He began, gazing into His brandy thoughtfully. ‘This was before I had to forcibly seal Mundus’ defenses against Oblivion Myself, so having more than just one Dragonborn alive to light the Dragonfires was... convenient. After the so-called ‘Oblivion Crisis’, when Hjalti Stormcrown’s line passed into the annals of history without direct heirs to the Ruby Throne, I assumed there was no more need to procure multiple Dragonborn at a time from the mortals of Nirn, since they would now always be protected from invasions from other realms… then I saw Alduin upon the currents of Time.’ Akatosh sighed in disappoint at the mention of His prodigal son. ‘The Nords who banished Him from this reality during their ‘Dragon Wars’ knew He would return to exact terrible vengeance. They were clever mortals, because as We saw last year, He did. When I pondered on the state of Tamriel that would bring about Alduin’s return – I realised I could not bestow the Dragonborn gift upon one mortal alone and consider them enough to set Mundus right. Too many Towers have fallen, and the land lays bleeding, broken, fractured from petty mortal squabbling… in these trying times, a lone Dragonborn would have much more to deal with than Alduin. So while Thuban Swift-Arrow may not be an Empress, I decided to grant her ‘heirs’, of a sort, in the event she is unable to properly fulfil her destiny.’ The Father of Dragons’ gaze moved back to Sheogorath and Meridia, a glimmer of hope in His eyes. ‘And thanks to My _jill_ re-arranging the threads of Fate, two of them have come of age and are here in Skyrim, where I knew Alduin would make His return.’

 

Sheogorath squinted at Him, confused. ‘Alright, Anu, get to the point,’ She said, crossing Her arms. ‘You always were a wordy One.’

 

Akatosh took a sip of His brandy. ‘My firstborn _jill_ , Tiidmiinaal, has already come to Me with her desire to save Thuban from a myriad of potential bad fates that await her thanks to this… Harkon transforming her into a pure-blooded vampire. She’s grown quite attached to Your daughter, see. She apparently thinks of her as the ‘best’ Dragonborn since Fríđa Grey-Mane. I intend to grant her this wish; however, since Molag Bal’s curse has nearly always been a downfall of Dragonborn in the past, and I am a cautious God, above all else, I will awaken these other children of My blood to their true nature, so that they may help Thuban with the stabilising of this realm.’

 

‘And the eradication of this Volkihar menace, too, I hope!’ Meridia grumbled, frowning at Akatosh. ‘I still cannot believe such _disrespect_ of Life–’

 

‘That would be included under ‘the stabilising of this realm’, My dear,’ Akatosh said, smiling back at Her. ‘I am Auri-El, He Who Illuminates Mundus. If you believe I will allow these cursed minions of Bal to extinguish My light, not to mention Yours, then You have clearly spent too much time in Oblivion for Your own good.’ Meridia moved to protest that comment, but simply sank into Her seat, giving Akatosh a ‘We will speak of this later’ look.

 

‘I take it this has a clause,’ Rigel said wryly. ‘Deals with gods always do.’ Her eyes flashed Aureal-gold for a brief second before she blinked it away.

 

‘That it does,’ Akatosh confirmed, nodding. ‘You would be responsible for the care of these children of Mine. One in particular will not respond well to his birthright, but I foresee he will understand, with time.’ Idly stroking His Bosmer companion’s shoulder, He met Her eye-to-eye and said, ‘This also means you, Sheogorath. I assume You would not pass up the opportunity to wield the most influence a Daedric Prince has had on Nirn since Mehrunes Dagon.’

 

‘Hah! Whoever thinks otherwise is a fool who put their clothes on inside-out this morning!’ Sheogorath laughed, grinning at Akatosh. ‘Alright, fine. If You can save My demiprince, then We’ll be more than happy to babysit for you. I promise to take good care of your kids, feed them, entertain them, get them to bed on time, yadda yadda.’ The Mad Goddess ran a hand through Her hair, turning it Her signature white once more. ‘It’s still very rude of You to interrupt My holiday like this, but since We’re in Skyrim already, I may as well have some fun with Your mortals before Haskill starts sending Me angry letters about My absence. Malacath’s left testicle, the fellow can be such a worrywort.’

 

Corpulus Vinius, who was doing double-duty as both the Winking Skeever’s owner and tavern wench since the employee who usually fulfilled the latter role was down with a case of Ataxia that week, sauntered over to their table with lunch. ‘Everything alright?’ he asked, eyeing the motley trio who’d (rather suspiciously, in his opinion; they were either just a gaggle of adventurers or something… more, which he preferred not to think about) chosen the furthest seating away from the early afternoon rabble. ‘You’ve been kicking up quite the racket.’

 

Sheogorath smiled at the innkeeper. ‘Family drama,’ She said smoothly. ‘Nothing to see here.’

 

-

 

It was almost as if Kyne had crafted the morning specifically for Mjoll. The air was cold and crisp, like how freshly-fallen snow felt between one’s hands. The rain from which Rain’s Hand got its name had fallen the night before, its presence lingering as the smell of damp earth; a welcome reprieve from the usual sharp, tangy stench of the Riften canals. While this also meant Riften’s mostly-wooden buildings had been thoroughly soaked, Mjoll’s steel armour protected her layers of clothing from any leftover rainwater clinging to the bench she was sitting on. Leaning against Grimsever, she peered around the market, looking for Aerin to return with the mead he’d gone into the Bee and Barb to get for both of them. Because as lovely as this Fredas was, it still couldn’t distract her from her racing mind.

 

She stole a glance at Grimsever, twirling its pommel in her hand. Ever since Thuban Swift-Arrow had returned it to her from Mzinchaleft, the accursed Dwemer ruin which had almost took her life, she’d promised herself that if she ever did return to adventuring, she would be far more careful about what she got herself into. But after last night’s dream ( _nightmare, more like_ , she thought miserably), which she’d woken from in a terrified fit, she had a gut feeling there was something, or Someone, out there that was beckoning her into the arms of Destiny. She wasn’t particularly superstitious, but if there was one thing her Old Clan mother had taught her, it was to never ignore signs or potents. And this was both, for sure.

 

Her dream had been… rather specific about the details. High in the southern mountains of the Rift, the ruins of Forelhost, one of the greatest Dragon Cult monasteries in ancient Tamriel. At the centre of it all, a towering Word Wall, which a large, imposing dragon with snowy-red scales lazily sat astride. Then the sound of… drums? Chanting? Both – flooded Mjoll’s ears, the music growing louder the closer she got to the Word Wall. _Then_ the achingly old stone began to _glow_ , glow with a bright, cold, white-blue light she’d never seen the like of, which overtook her senses so thoroughly that all she could feel was _strun, bah, qo_ –

 

That had only been the beginning.

 

Thankfully, Aerin sat down next to her and pushed a blissfully warm flask of mead into her free hand before her mind began to recall the rest.

 

‘Bit chilly out, isn’t it?’ The Nibenman asked, taking a sip from his own flask. ‘Can’t say I’m the biggest fan of Rain’s Hand here. Too cold for my liking. Though I’m sure you love it, ‘true Nord’ that you are, heh.’

 

‘Mmm,’ was all Mjoll could say in response. She took her time with drinking her mead, savouring the sweet richness of the honey (Honningbrew make, thank the gods; she didn’t understand how Maven Black-Briar’s awful-tasting swill had become so popular). Her eyes drifted back to the market, concentrating on the intricacies of the Gideon-style embroidery on Madesi’s tunic to try and block out the memory of her dream.

 

Aerin, Mara bless him, was onto how she was feeling. ‘You’re going to go to that… place,’ he said nervously, looking at her in concern. ‘The one you told me about. Mjoll, please, don’t risk–’

 

‘I have to,’ Mjoll said, barely able to conceal her own anxiety.

 

‘It’s just a _dream_ –’

 

Mjoll swallowed, straightening her back. ‘There’s a difference between ‘just dreams’ and what I had, Aerin,’ she said. ‘My mother’s a Priestess of Mara, remember? She has the ear of a goddess. I grew up knowing a lot about omens; how to see them, how to interpret them, that kind of thing. This dream from last night, it was an omen if there ever was one.’ Swirling mead around her tongue, she shut her eyes and breathed deeply through her nose. ‘Look, this isn’t about wealth, or glory, or anything like that. I have a strong feeling that this is about the thread of my wyrd. It’s… an old Nord thing. One of Mara’s names here in Skyrim is Fate-Weaver; the Handmaiden is said to spin our ultimate destinies on Her wheel, and Nords can nought but fulfil the purpose She cards us from Kyne’s wool. If my purpose is tied to dragons, or the Dragon Priests, whatever it may be… it would do me good to discover why.’

 

Aerin frowned and shook his head. Sighing, he said in defeat, ‘Alright, but I’m going to pay for a mercenary to come with you.’

 

Mjoll chuckled. ‘If you insist. That fellow Nibenese of yours, Marcurio, is the only decent one in town, really. He peddles himself at the Bee and Barb; five hundred septims is his fee, I believe.’

 

‘Heartlander, thank you very much,’ Aerin corrected with a chuckle of his own. ‘He’s from the Imperial City. May have some heritage from Cheydinhal way, I suppose, based on how he dresses.’

 

‘Well, wherever he’s from, I’m curious to see this reputed ‘master of magic’ in action,’ Mjoll said, pointing her thumb at the doors to the Bee and Barb. ‘I intend to leave for Forelhost at sunrise tomorrow. I won’t return until I have answers, friend. Regardless of what they are.’

 

Looking up at the stormy grey sky, Mjoll could swear she heard the faint, distant roar of a dragon.

 

-

 

‘Justiciar?’ Ancalin asked softly, cracking open the door to Ondolemar’s quarters ever so slightly. ‘First Emissary Elenwen to see you.’

 

Ondolemar stopped wringing his hands to look up at one of his guardsmer, smiling at the young blonde as if he hadn’t been staring at the wall in existential despair for the past couple hours.

 

‘Thank you, dear,’ Ondolemar said in as calm a voice as he could manage. ‘If you and Tandare could distract her for a time while I don more appropriate attire, I would appreciate it.’ Ancalin nodded briskly, offering him a salute before shutting the door behind her. He was wearing simple linen garments instead of his Thalmor Justiciar uniform; how the _fuck_ could he have put it on after everything he’d been witness to in his… dream? Nightmare? He didn’t know where to place it. Either way, he felt like he’d woken up to a near-different reality. It would take more than this morning to come to terms with it. Gods, it would probably take most of his life.

 

But, well. Elenwen had arrived in Markarth, sooner than he’d expected what with the... fun times… that were going to be happening up in Solitude any day now once various Dominion higher-ups came into port aboard the Queen Ayrenn, the Alinorian navy’s we’re-coming-to-fuck-you-up flagship (Ondolemar had heard the stories about Blade activity against the Thalmor in Haafingar – they weren’t pretty tales). He was surprised at her quick response to his request to ‘discuss matters relating to Aetherius’, since he could have meant something less grievous than it actually was; then again, it _was_ the First Emissary. She’d only been stopped from paying Agent Sanyon a visit by Lake Ilinalta over the Talos shrine ‘incident’ because of a gods-damned vampire raid on the Haafingar embassy. She probably clenched her arse every time a smidgen of dirt got on the Thalmor track record, even if it was practically invisible. Ondolemar chuckled at the thought of her reaction to what he was about to tell her.

 

 _Time to say goodbye to this cushy job_ , he thought mournfully as he began to change into his Justiciar uniform. Markarth was a wretched shithole, that much was true, but it was a _quiet_ shithole. For the most part, outside of paperwork, he didn’t have to worry about actually being a Thalmor Justiciar. Sure, his agents did send him reports of the occasional Nord sneaking into the city’s Shrine of Talos for a spot of tea and heresy, but after Bruma, Ondolemar didn’t have the energy to drag Mannish heretics through the streets to crucifixion every other day. It was why he’d taken this Markarth post; the Forsworn would probably reclaim ‘their’ (in their own words) city before he’d have to start acting like a barbarian executioner rather than a civilised government official again thanks to the bloody Stormcloaks and their false god.

 

 _Is He?_ Great, it was coming back to to him now, right as he was fastening the buttons to his jacket. _Go away, wretched thoughts, I need to concentrate_. He couldn’t help but still feel a touch repulsed at the familiar black and gold. Colours he’d been inspired by since he was a young elfling. Colours he’d sworn an oath to, a promise to uphold the values of the Third Aldmeri Dominion, come what may. _But what if those values are –_

  
_I said,_ go away _, damn you!_ With an exasperated huff, he pulled his hood over his head.  
  
‘Justiciar Ondolemar,’ crooned a smooth female voice from outside his quarters. It took all of Ondolemar’s strength not to bite down on his tongue to the point where it would draw blood; Understone Keep was an impressively large, maze-like fortress, but of _course_ Elenwen had beelined straight for him in record time. Trouble for the Thalmor might be afoot, after all.

 

‘I do hope this is important enough for you to take me away from attending to our superiors staying in Solitude,’ Elenwen said, as if she was discussing high tea and not the potential start to the Second Great War. ‘May I come in?’

 

‘Of course, Madame Ambassador,’ Ondolemar wheedled, standing to attention when she opened the door.

 

Elenwen looked down her nose at the as-usual mess of paperwork and tomes scattered across Ondolemar’s desk. ‘You do have to clean this up sometime, Justiciar,’ she tut-tutted at him. ‘It’s quite unbecoming of a mer of your station.’

 

‘Indeed, Madame Ambassador,’ Ondolemar said with a stiff smile. ‘I apologise. I’ve been...’ he trailed off, frantically looking at the ceiling to finish his sentence. ‘...I’ve had trouble sleeping. It’s… made me disorganised.’

 

‘Oh, just drink a lavender mixture and get over it,’ Elenwen said, chuckling. ‘Cleanliness is next to godliness, Justiciar.’

 

‘Indeed.’ Ondolemar began fidgeting with the Amulet of Syrabane around his neck to distract himself from depressingly vivid memories of his dream. Why did his mind hate him so?

 

Elenwen peered at him with relaxed, but cautious curiosity. ‘So,’ she said, ‘if you don’t mind, I’d like you to tell me what ‘matters of Aetherius’ you wish to discuss.’

 

Ondolemar’s hands balled into fists, then relaxed again. Breathing slowly, he steeled himself for whatever was to come.

 

‘Well,’ he began, offering her his desk chair, ‘I’d advise you take a seat for this.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> >:D
> 
> I don't know if I should tag this as 'Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence' or not, since the canon questlines are pretty much going to happen as normal, with my muse just happening to decide that Mjoll and Ondolemar as 'extra' Dragonborn would be entertaining as heck.
> 
> Though I'll say my decision to throw Ondolemar into the deep end of the character development pool this way was inspired by the amazing 'It's All In A File' by Borfin (https://archiveofourown.org/works/6786763/chapters/15507868), one of the best Elder Scrolls fanfics on the internet IMO.


	9. Alok (Rise)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A more bite-sized chapter, since writing 4/5/6k words most chapters has been a wee bit tiring, lol.

_Pain_ . It was the only sensation Thuban could make out amongst the pitch blackness. Every part of her body thrummed with sharp, near-unbearable pain. It felt like the gods were pulling her bones from her body, re-arranging them to Their liking and then stuffing them back underneath her flesh. She could almost see her soul, dark as the  void that blinded her if not for a few glittering sparks of Aetherius, pulse wildly in fear. 

 

_Blood_ . Suddenly, her vision was drenched in  it . Of its corruption, when Molag Bal raped Lamae Beolfag, t ransforming her into the first Daughter of Coldharbour,  her thighs stained with crimson.  Of its sacrifice, when Harkon murdered a thousand innocents from amongst his own people to appease the Lord of Domination;  how did Solitude ever wash out all that  _red?_

 

More imagery came before her eyes.  H er father  in Skingrad, the last time she’d seen him before... his face as pale as the grave, those newly-grown fangs sticking out of his mouth  in such an ungainly way –  _herself_ , the visage of a draugr freshly-entombed, tearing into  soldiers at Whiterun  – s harp teeth to throats, scratching with sheathed claws, digging through skin to produce blood, the sweet, heady taste of iron, oh,  _gods_ , she was so  _thirsty_ – 

 

‘ _Dovahkiin_.’

 

A voice rang through her head, dispersing the pain like waves breaking upon the shore. It was a quiet, soothing tone that sounded familiar; Thuban’s eyes widened in realisation when they met those of a shimmering golden dragon unlike any she’d seen before. This dragon had… arms? Four legs? It looked like the draconic depictions of the Peyrite, for some reason, but it was no being from Oblivion. How could it, _she_ , be anything but a shard of _Bormahu_ – 

 

‘ _Alok_ , _Dovahkiin_.’

 

Thuban rose.

 

A quick intake of breath welcomed her back to the waking world, her lungs still attuned to life, not the undeath that had taken her. She held a hand up to her brow, wincing at the bright, blooming colours that filled her sight. It was nighttime, but a richer, more fuller night than she’d ever – _no_. The truth of things had returned to her – and by Dibella, she didn’t know why she hadn’t appreciated it before, but Nirn through a vampire’s eyes made it look like had been painted with the brush strokes of an artist. How had she survived with such dull senses until now? _Why_ had she chosen to cure herself of vampirism in the first place? (She knew why, but _still_ ).

 

Masser and Secunda were beginning their climb over the horizon, and the sky was awash with stars. A bitterly cold wind that would have chilled Thuban to the bone if mortal blood still ran through her veins blew past the balcony where she presumed she’d been unceremoniously dumped after… _Harkon_.

 

She was suddenly aware of the stone wall she was slumped against, the dim flicker of torches nearby and the dull throbbing from a particular spot on her neck. The last thing she recalled from before she’d fallen asleep was taking Serana to her family’s home, navigating the hallways of Castle Volkihar, then being accosted by Harkon in its Great Hall. Her memory was hazy after that, but she cringed at the thought of having being trapped in his embrace, unable to do anything but squirm in protest as he transformed her.

 

 _Paak viik_ – _Thur_ _b_ _ah,_ _you were_ _told not_ _to_ _enter the domain of the vulonah; see what has become of you because you did not listen!_ Thuban scowled as Mirmulnir hissed at her. Did her _zeymah_ really have to offer commentary? Of all the moments since she’d absorbed his soul, did he have to do it _now_?

 

 _Well, that was a waste of a good black soul gem_ , she thought with a sigh. _Falion’s gonna be pissed_ _about this._ The ritual that the Redguard mage performed to cure people of _Sanguinare Vampiris_ was a long, complicated and nasty one, which Thuban wasn’t too sure she wanted to repeat, given that the patriarch of the most powerful vampire clan in Skyrim had just forced her into undeath again. She had more than a disease, now. She could _feel_ Molag Bal’s corruption at the very core of her being. She’d need  something a lot bigger than a soul gem to cleanse _that_ –

 

‘Awake at last. Good.’ The purr of a hunter basking in the defeat of prey interrupted Thuban’s train of thought. Harkon strode onto the balcony from inside, hands clasped behind his back, that unholy gaze fixed on her with unsettling intensity.

 

Thuban scrambled to her feet, leaning against the wall behind her for support. ‘ _You_ ,’ she growled, pointing a finger at him,  emphasising the new dragon-like claw attached to it,  ‘ _Faaz ahrk nah_ – y ou  _fucker_ –’ 

 

‘At east, my childe,’ Harkon soothed. ‘I must confess, I am surprised you were able to withstand my embrace. Not all mortals are. I suppose it is because you are Dragonborn,’ he said with a smirk. Thuban wanted to punch it off his face. ‘Come now, why do you look at me like that? You were once one of our kind; thin-blooded, yes, but a vampire nonetheless. I have merely returned you to the fold, as was meant to be.’ 

 

‘Did the ‘I cured myself of vampirism’ detail about me fly over your head, _Thuri?_ ’ Thuban asked snarkily. She didn’t know where her new-found confidence was coming from, but flipping off Skyrim’s oldest vampire probably wasn’t a good idea. ‘I contracted a fucking _disease_. In a _crypt_. From some bottom-feeding ‘thin-blood’, as you say, who was actually trying to _kill me_ rather than infect me. Being a vampire had its… benefits, but I certainly didn’t feel like I was ‘meant; to be one, for Y’ffre’s sake. _Zu’u los joor_. ’

 

H arkon laughed; it was the amusement of Molag Bal’s get, those who took joy in what reasonable folk found reprehensible, and  it made Thuban’s skin crawl.

 

‘The foolish belief that you are the same as ordinary men died the day the Old Men of the Mountain summoned you to them,’ he said, still chuckling. ‘I have been witness to many Dragonborn over the years, every one of them dragons merely wearing mortal skin. You _are_ one of those beasts, in all but the physical. Your soul craves domination, it yearns for power. To deny yourself such is to deny  your birthright. My childe, I have but given you the means to fulfil your true potential. You will come to see it as the gift it is.’

 

Thuban squinted at him, confused, before sighing.

 

‘Really? This again?’ she asked, exasperated. ‘Someday I’ll find a way to go to Aetherius and sucker-punch Talos.’ Straightening her back, she held her chin up and looked straight at Harkon, clenching her fists for emphasis, her claws digging into her palms a welcome distraction from the overwhelming sense of _dread_ she felt. ‘ Besides, those thralls of yours – Salonia and Stalf, was it? – told me you just wanted to use me for your own ends. _Zu’u los ni hin aar_ – _’_

 

‘Thuban?’ Serana stepping out of the shadowy parlour connected to the balcony almost sent Thuban jumping in shock. _How does she move so quietly?_ ‘ Ah, you’re awake. I’m sor–’ She stopped herself when she realised that Harkon was watching her intently. ‘...pleased to see you’re adapting well. Welcome to the family,’ she said, not sounding very sincere about it. The vampire gave Thuban a smile that read, _I’ll apologise for everything later_.  Not that she needed to apologise, Thuban thought; this was on her father, if he could still be called such. Harkon wasn’t looking at Serana the way a parent looked at a child.

 

‘I brought you some, ah, food, if you will,’ Serana said, gently leading one of the Volkihar cattle over to Thuban, who cringed at the sight of the unfortunate human. He was – would have been, before his sense of self was stolen by the vampires – a Haafingar Nord, judging by his short height, lithe build and golden-blonde hair. His skin was a pallid white, numerous bite marks marking his neck and wrists, bruise-like bags under his eyes. He was dressed in rather threadbare rags, for someone who was being held in the castle of a former noble family. The Volkihar clearly didn’t care about the well-being of their thralls. ‘Try not to drain him dry. You haven’t drank blood in a while, remember. Ease into it.’

 

Thuban wanted to climb down from the balcony with the poor sod and try to escape with him, so she could at least save  _one_ person from a fate worse then death, but  her returned thirst began to overpower her, much to her chagrin.  _Parched_ , a voice from some deep, dark recess of her brain grumbled.  _Need blood…_ S hrugging her shoulders, s he approached the  man ,  pulling his head back to expose his throat. Brushing a few locks of  his  hair out of the way, she sank her fangs into a spot of skin not covered in scar tissue and let instinct take over, preferring not to be cognisant for feeding on an unwilling thrall; she could feel his body tense up against her, weakly thrashing in place, the last remnants of resistance  from a terrified man worn down by  Calm spells and vampiric seduction.

 

Following Serana’s suggestion, she sucked the bite wound she’d made ever so slowly, swishing the blood around her mouth before swallowing. It felt strange to find the taste of blood to be so appealing, the tang of iron on her tongue something she’d never really thought about when she’d had _Sanguinare Vampiris_. Perhaps  vampirism ‘gifted’ by Molag Bal was different. _Of course creatures made in Bal’s image would find taking someone else’s life essence pleasurable_ , she thought. _Don’t fall to their level. Don’t debase yourself – for the love of Mara, I said, don’t debase yourself like that!_

 

She didn’t know when she’d begun to draw out more blood, lapping it up in between satisfied moans, but the rational part of her  mind that had been pushed aside wanted to throw herself off the castle ramparts.  How the mighty Dragonborn had fallen.

 

Maybe it was a bad idea to have let instinct take over.

 

‘Well, now; much as I admire your enthusiasm, childe, it would be best not to gorge yourself,’ Harkon said, amused. ‘Once your thirst has been sated, meet me in the Great Hall. There is a matter of great importance I must address before the entire court. I suppose Serana can later assist you in learning how to wield your new power, given how… close you both appear to be.’ His tone of voice implied he wasn’t pleased with it. ‘Oh, and do try not to spill blood on the floor.’

 

W ith that, a swarm of bats appeared where the Lord of Clan Volkihar had stood, flying into the darkness of the castle’s corridors. 

 

Thuban returned to her senses, detaching her fangs from the throat of the thrall she’d been feeding on. Drops of blood trickled down her chin. ‘What’s got him pissed off?’ she asked Serana, eyebrows knitted together.

 

‘He probably thinks I’m going to turn you against him,’ Serana replied, sighing. ‘Which I don’t need to do. I’m sure that forcibly being turned into one of us made you angry enough.’ Turning to Thuban, she smirked when she noticed the blood staining her mouth. ‘You enjoyed that, I take it?’

 

Thuban frowned, wiping her mouth on her armour. ‘I feel so base.’

 

‘Hey, now,’ Serana said gently, wiping away a spot Thuban had missed with the brush of a finger, ‘You needed to feed. You fed. It’s not that complicated. Don’t feel bad about fulfilling your basic needs; you’re a vampire again, remember.’

 

‘But I _can’t_ be one,’ Thuban said, looking at the ground dejectedly. ‘Alright, sure, my father is a vampire, but I have other family, friends, a... _life_ waiting for me back on the mainland. Odahviing and Paarthurnax aside, I guess, they’re all _mortal_. _Joore_.  Fuck’s sake, I’m still wearing my bloody Dawnguard armour! I joined the flipping _Dawnguard_ only days ago! Not to mention my allegiance to – oh, _nid_. _Meridia_.’ Whilst asleep, she’d seen a vision of  her Lady fighting Molag Bal. The Glister-Witch hadn’t spoken to her since she’d woke, but Thuban had an idea about Her feelings on Her champion being risen into undeath. There would be drama in Oblivion, that was for sure.

 

S erana simply reached for her hand, holding it in reassurance. ‘Don’t worry. Whatever problems you’ll have because of this, I’ll help you. It’s the least I can do.’

 

Thuban looked at Serana’s hopeful smile and sighed. The consequences of being ‘welcomed’ into Skyrim’s most feared vampire clan were going to hurt, badly. Making the Volkihar her enemy , as she was already planning, would hurt even more.  But when she met the eyes of the woman she was beginning to consider a friend, she allowed herself a moment of reprieve.


	10. Doom-Driven (1)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://media.makeameme.org/created/as-you-can-5af5c0.jpg

Nearly a day into exploring the ruins of Forelhost, Mjoll decided that she never wanted to set foot in an abandoned ancient Nord temple again.

 

 _Draugr_ , she grimaced, herself and Marcurio bracing themselves for another round of hacking through another pack of reanimated corpses head ed their way, weapons raised, eyes blazing. _Always with the draugr_. She’d thought that with their slaying of Rahgot, the dragon priest buried in these ruins, the magic that returned his servants to life would have dissipated. Much to their dismay, four of the things had broken out of nearby sarcophagi moments after he’d fallen to them.

 

‘I’ll see you in pieces!’ Marcurio yelled at their undead assailants, unleashing a storm of Destruction magic. Magicka crackled across the Imperial’s skin, lighting up his eyes; Mjoll had to admit, watching mages cast spells was always a sight to see. She’d seen plenty of it when she’d worked as a guard for House Telvanni in Morrowind, not to mention that caravan of Anequinan mages in Elsewyr–

 

Shaking her head, she tightened her grip on Grimsever’s hilt. _Concentrate, Mjoll_. Wistfully thinking about warmer, draugr-free climes would do her no good right now. Singling out a draugr, she charged at it and decapitated it with one wide swing before moving onto another, rending it from neck to chest. The corpse collapsed onto the dust-coated stone floor, the unnatural blue light in its eyes snuffed out like a candle flame.

 

‘ _Faaz! Paak! Dinok!_ ’ a nearby draugr screeched, almost _glaring_ at Mjoll, as if it were angry for the death of its fellow corpse. Beating its shield with its sword, it quickly shambled towards her, lifting its sword in preparation. Mjoll held up Grimsever as it came down, the _clang_ of iron hitting honed malachite and moonstone ringing out through the temple corridors. Before it could get another swing in, though, Marcurio sent it flying with a blast of fire, slamming against a nearby wall.

 

‘Oh no you don’t,’ the mage said with a huff, dusting his hands as he looked at the crumpled, burning draugr in satisfaction. Winking at Mjoll, his eyes briefly darted around the room before he sighed, ‘Guess that’s the last of them.’

 

Mjoll stuck the point of Grimsever against the ground to steady herself. ‘Mask,’ she said in-between catching her breath, ‘Get the mask. Dragon priest’s, Rahgot’s, whatever.’

 

‘For ‘Captain Valmir’? If that guy’s an Imperial soldier, I may as well be an axe-swinging barbarian,’ Marcurio said dryly. ‘The civil war’s been over for months now. ‘The General has sent me to obtain a powerful weapon for the war effort’, my arse. If the old Gladius really did send him down here to scrounge through some dusty old ruins, then it would have been _before_ the Dragonborn took out Ulfric Stormcloak.’ Strolling back to the pile of robes and ash that used to be Rahgot, he knelt down and rummaged through it, producing the dragon priest’s mask with a curious grin. ‘You know, this would fetch a decent amount of septims back in Riften; I’d say three thousand as an estimate, though with artefacts like this, one can never be sure. Still, we could make quite the bit of gold.’

 

Mjoll wiped sweat off her brow, smiling. ‘Sure, why not,’ she said, pulling out her waterskin to take a drink. ‘So long as it doesn’t end up decorating Maven Black-Briar’s mantle, I’m fine with that. I’m not here for the loot, anyway.’

 

‘Mmmm.’ Marcurio absent-mindedly munched on an apple while walking the length of the tomb, occasionally stopping to pocket valuables. ‘The… ‘Word Wall’, was it? A big slab of stone with dragon-speech written on it? Haven’t seen one yet. Maybe we have the wrong place.’

  
Mjoll had just sat down by Rahgot’s sarcophagus to get her bearings when she heard _it_. The strange music she’d heard in her dream… nightmare… vision? Eerie drums accompanied by deep, ominous chanting. And it was coming from somewhere outside, beckoning her.

 

‘No,’ she said softly, eyes wide. ‘No, we’re on the right path.’ Slowly standing up, she stowed her waterskin away in her pack and sheathed Grimsever. ‘Can you hear that?’

 

Marcurio looked around, confused. ‘Uh, hear what?’ he asked. ‘I don’t hear anything.’

 

Mjoll gulped. ‘The Word Wall,’ she said. Taking a deep breath, she continued. ‘It’s outside. It’s… calling to me.’

 

Marcurio furrowed his brow in confusion, but nodded.

 

‘Oh, okay then,’ he said. ‘That’s incredibly strange and has me concerned for you, but hey. You have my services, come what may.’ Now making his way through a sweetroll, he offered her a reassuring smile between bites. ‘You might want take a break before we dive into this creepy ancient Nord magic business, though. I believe it’s evening outside, so about dinner time. Also, we may have to make camp overnight; personally, the last thing I want to do right now is try my luck on the Rift’s roads after dark.’

 

‘Hmm, yeah,’ Mjoll said in agreement. ‘I… if it’s alright, I want to check out the Word Wall now. I have to see why the gods have lead me here. This whole situation feels burdened by Fate.’

 

Marcurio chuckled. ‘Ah, Nords.’ Eyeing Rahgot’s corpse, he crouched down to pick through his robes again, this time producing a rust-covered set of keys. ‘I figured the big man in charge would have kept the keys to this place,’ he mused aloud, dropping them in Mjoll’s lap with a loud jangle.

 

‘Thanks,’ Mjoll said in a quiet tone, standing up slowly. ‘Hey, once I’ve… finished my business outside, I’ll find a place to make camp.’

 

‘And have a life-changing moment without me?’ Marcurio asked wryly, winking at her. ‘I’ve always wanted to see a Word Wall up close. Illustrations in books probably don’t do them justice.’

 

Mjoll nodded. ‘Very well,’ she said, walking up to the doors leading outside at a brisk pace. It surprised her that the keys still worked, even after thousands of years. She half expected the things to fall apart from rust and decay.

 

A cold gust of wind greeted them as they stepped into the evening air, followed by streaks of rain. Mjoll frowned, putting her hand up to her forehead to shelter her eyes from the worst of it. The bad weather was a shame, since the sunset in the distance, even obscured by clouds as it was, looked like a beautiful one. Not that she was able to concentrate on much aside from the increasingly loud music that guided her towards the Word Wall like a rat to a piper (just where on Nirn was it _coming_ from, anyway?).

 

‘Uh, Mjoll?’ Marcurio looked at his employer with concern. She’d begun walking towards something around the corner of the temple exterior with a glazed look in her eyes, like she wasn’t really there in full. Following her, he did a double take when he saw her destination.

 

Indeed, those illustrations of Word Walls he’d poured over back at the Arcane University hardly did the experience of seeing one in real life justice. The apprentice mage had explored many an Ayelid and Dwemer ruin, so being in the presence of ancient things wasn’t as overwhelming as it used to be for him, but it still filled him with reverent awe. This was a towering, chiselled outcrop of stone which had stood while many civilisations had fallen, including that which built it. Dragon motifs were carved along its edges, with the interior decorated by what could only be the written form of ‘Dragon-Speech’. Marcurio took a moment to admire it, before getting distracted by Mjoll leaning against a particular part of the wall, pressing her palm to a word she kept repeating under her breath.

 

‘ _Struhn_ ,’ she murmured, titling her head to the side. ‘ _Struhn_ … _struhn…_ storm?’

 

Suddenly, aetherial-blue light encircled her hand, then her arm, pooling over the rest of her body. It lingered there for a moment, then appeared to seep into her skin. Mjoll fell to her knees with a sharp intake of breath, eyes wide in shock. Storm clouds… no, not just any, but the ones above her, somehow… Kyne danced in her mind’s eye, banging Her thunder-drums, the sound rumbling across the churning sky with an ominous tone. Lighting, Her power concentrated, struck the ground, the bones of Her beloved Shor, like sword strikes. And like the swinging of a sword, it struck people down with brutal swiftness; how _weak_ and _powerless_ mortals were against the fury of –

 

‘Well, now, I suppose you should stand up, yes? Don’t want to get your armour wet, after all.’

 

Mjoll was once again aware of her surroundings. Of the steady patter of rain against her back, and the puddle her knees were caught in. Of the smooth coldness of the stone wall her hand was touching, and the strange-looking Bosmer sitting on top of it, grinning at her.

 

‘Who…?’ Mjoll fell back into the puddle, grunting in distaste as she felt her clothes underneath her armour grow damp. ‘Who in Mara’s name are _you?_ ’

 

The strange Bosmer laughed, kicking her legs against the wall. Mjoll had never seen one of her race with hair that white, or eyes that gold; in fact, her eyes weren’t even natural at all, but similar to those Mjoll had seen on certain daedra. Her odd purple-and-red silk suit all but confirmed her nature.

 

‘It was Akatosh who sent Me, honey, not Mara, but close enough,’ the Bosmer chortled, offering Mjoll another grin. ‘Since I’m running on a tight schedule, let’s get to it. I’m Sheogorath, yes, _that_ Sheogorath, Daedric Prince of madness; charmed, I’m sure. You, Mjoll Hildasdottir, are Dragonborn. Congratulations! Since the Dragonborn you probably know about is a little… ahem, indisposed, Aka insisted that you and another mortal – who I’ll be dealing with soon enough – be ‘awakened’ to your ‘true nature’ so you can save the world, yadda yadda, you know how it goes with this hero stuff. You also just learnt the first word of a shouty spell dragons use to call storms, so congratulations on that, too!’

 

Mjoll massaged her temples. ‘Alright, forgive my language, but what the _fuck?_ ’ the Prince’s explanation only confused her more.

 

‘What, am I not speaking Common?’ Sheogorath asked. ‘You’re a chosen one. Yay! I suppose if I _have_ to elaborate more, I could tell you everything over a spot of tea. There’s an Altmer fellow camping nearby who, in My opinion, is a bit of a twat. I kill him, you and your mage friend loot his belongings, and we use his campsite for our own ends. Sounds good?’

 

Mjoll furrowed her brow, but nodded. This situaton wasn’t just burdened by Fate; much to her dismay, it _was_ fate. Back in her adventuring days, she would have jumped into this headfirst without thinking, excited by the prospect of fame and glory. Now, she wasn’t so sure.


	11. Doom-Driven (2)

Ondolemar had done many embarrassing things in the name of his own survival, but having to acquiesce to the mercy of Men was the most embarrassing of them all.

 

Scowling, he continued to pace at the foot of the Mournful Throne (an apt name for the seat of the ruler of the _mournful_ ly horrid Markarth), his robes swirling around him as he turned on his heel. Jarl Igmund was engaged in conversation with the tall Nord redhead who owned the Arnleif and Sons Trading Company (given that she was a woman, Ondolemar assumed ‘Arnleif’ was out of the picture). It sounded rather mundane, which only deepened his scowl; surely a Thalmor Justiciar requesting to speak with him was more important than some common merchant’s petty issues?

 

‘I’m sorry, Lisbet, but I’m not able to send any more soldiers into Forsworn territory,’ Igmund said wearily. ‘Especially for something as small as this... statue you’re describing.’

 

‘It’s a statue of Dibella!’ Lisbet protested, a fist clenched tight. ‘It’s made of solid gold! Worth at _least_ a thousand septims! My Jarl, I mean no disrespect, but–’

 

‘But nothing,’ Igmund sighed. ‘There’s a mercenary named Vorstag who peddles himself at the Silver-Blood Inn. He’s a swordsman of well-renown in the city; I’m sure he’ll get you your statue back.’

 

Lisbet raised her fist, then lowered it, frowning. ‘I can’t afford five hundred septims for a sellsword,’ she said, defeated. ‘Imedhnain and I need to save money for repairs to the store interior.’

 

Igmund rested his face in one hand, drumming his fingers against the throne with the other. ‘Fine. Because I like you, Lisbet, I’ll pay you the gold you need to hire Vorstag; perhaps another mercenary too, just in case… you never know what can happen in Forsworn encampments.’ The dirty blonde-haired jarl offered her a sympathetic smile. ‘Good hunting.’

 

‘Oh, Divines bless you, Igmund,’ Lisbet heaved, throwing her arms and head to the ceiling of the Keep triumphantly. ‘Dibella bless you! I’m sure She will thank you for this kind act.’

 

‘Hah, that’ll be the day,’ Igmund said with a smirk. ‘I’ll send Raerek down with the payment at noon. Uncle?’

 

‘Hmph,’ Raerek muttered, nodding. The elderly Nord steward’s beady gaze stared straight at Ondolemar, which sent a shiver of discomfort down his spine. ‘It seems we have another visitor this morning, my boy.’

 

Ondolemar stopped mid-pace, like a rabbit in the firing line of a hunter’s arrow.

 

Lisbet chuckled at him as she left the throne room, an amused grin on her lips, as if his troubled situation were anything to laugh about. Had he still been in a position of authority, he could have had her dragged to Northwatch for disrespecting a member of the Thalmor like that (Besides, Tandare had seen Lisbet slip into the city’s shrine to Talos a number of times, so he’d have a reason to arrest her other than his wounded pride). But here he was, wearing vestigial robes and a vestigial title, having to bend the knee to a human. How the winds of Fate had turned against him.

 

Igmund looked at Ondolemar with lazy curiousity, continuing to drum his fingers against the throne. ‘Well? Out with it, Justiciar.’

 

Ondolemar gulped at the mention of his former station. Perhaps he should have changed into more… simpler clothing before his audience with the Jarl, but after Elenwen had told him of her plan for the High Archon himself to come to Skyrim in light of their conversation, he knew he had precious little time before everything he knew would unravel. Though, truth be told, while the end of the comfortable existence he’d had these past several years did make him anxious, it was a more important matter that concerned him – he could almost _see_ the Dominion using him as a bludgeon against the Empire to start the Second Great War. After the First War, Ondolemar had never wanted to witness such carnage again in his lifetime, never mind personally instigate it. Putting Men in their place was not worth the blood-red stains on his conscience.

 

 _But what of this?_ What of it, indeed. If the Jarl agreed to smuggle him out of Markarth, he would be branded a traitor to the Dominion, viciously hunted across Skyrim or anywhere else he deigned to run to. There would be no mercy. Not even his… special status would afford him it. Elenwen would merely turn towards capturing Thuban Swift-Arrow to fulfil the role they were setting him up to play.

 

Ondolemar remembered the last time he’d seen the Champion of Cyrodiil’s daughter; back in Alinor, on a balcony of the Firsthold Thalmor headquarters, swearing him into silence about her escape from under Justiciar Talisse’s thumb at arrowpoint. _I’m getting out of this death cult_ , the halfling girl had said to him. _You’re a good mer, Ondolemar. If you have half the spine I know you do, you’d follow me_.

 

 _I suppose I’m following you now, Thuban_ , Ondolemar thought . _Ancestors preserve me_.

 

‘I said, out with it, Justiciar,’ Igmund said, cutting through the haze of his thoughts. ‘I don’t have all day.’

 

Ondolemar blinked himself back into reality. Getting his bearings, he gave the Jarl a wheedling smile and bow.

 

‘Jarl Igmund,’ he began, clearing his throat. ‘My apologies.’

 

‘If this is about the Shrine of Talos, I told you already, there have been no reports from the guards for months now,’ Igmund drawled. ‘The defeat of Ulfric Stormcloak has made Markarth ‘heresy-free’, as you would put it.’

 

Ondolemar shut his eyes for a brief moment. ‘Given that I no longer hold the title of Justiciar, I would be the wrong mer to come to with such information,’ he said, slowly, deliberately. ‘There has been an… incident, among the Thalmor. I shan’t burden you with the details, but what you must know is I have been discharged from their ranks and am to be presented before the High Archon of the Aldmeri Dominion.’

 

Igmund leaned back in the throne, studying Ondolemar with confusion, but curiousity. ‘And of what concern is this to me? To Markarth?’

 

‘Whatever comes of that meeting, it will not bode well for Skyrim, or the Empire at large. For reasons I won’t divulge right now, I’ve chosen to give you the opportunity to pull up the shoots of this future before they grow, if you understand my meaning.’ Behind his back, Ondolemar wringed his hands. _O Auri-El, shining Allfather on high, grant your son strength_. ‘First Emissary Elenwen is still in Markarth. Should you be able to sneak me past her, through the city gates, I will be in your debt.’

 

‘How do we know we can trust you?’ Faleen asked. The Redguard woman reached for the pommel of her sword. ‘All you’ve done for Markarth is harass her people and cause trouble where there was none. Why should we help you?’

 

‘Because I’m not a Thalmor agent anymore, dammit!’ Ondolemar snapped, cringing at his reaction to Faleen’s words. ‘I – a thousand apologies. Like I said, I am to be presented to the High Archon; I do not doubt I shall become a pawn in the Dominion’s plan for a Second Great War as a result. I saw enough death and pain in the first one. Personal beliefs aside, I refuse to perpetrate any more bloodshed.’

 

‘He seems honest enough,’ Igmund mused. ‘But I must ask you, Justiciar, or whoever you are now… what makes you so important to the Dominion? Why would they go to so much trouble for one agent among many?’

 

Onmund sighed, releasing the tension in his shoulders. There was no point in hiding it.

 

‘Well, I understand this will be hard to believe,’ he began, swallowing his nerves, ‘but it has recently been revealed to me that I am –’

 

‘ _DOVAHKIIN!_ ’

 

The earth-trembling roar of a dragon was heard even in the depths of Understone Keep, shaking the walls, floor and ceiling; dust motes danced in its wake, followed by terrified screaming from the Keep’s inhabitants.

 

Faleen unsheathed her sword at last. ‘Come help us kill this beast first, then we can talk,’ she said determinedly, her jaw clenched.

 

‘Right,’ Ondolemar said with a brisk nod. ‘Of course.’

 

Drawing his own blade, he began readying a fire spell. There was no time to think, so he ran out of the throne room into the Keep at large and called out for his guardsmer.

 

‘Ancalin! Tandare! Can you hear me?’ he shouted into the chaos. Soon enough, the two golden-armoured mer in question emerged from the panicked crowd, standing to attention, giving him sharp salutes.

 

‘Prepare yourselves,’ Ondolemar said, ‘for today, we fight a dragon. May the ancestors watch over us.’

 

‘May the ancestors watch over us,’ Tandare repeated, her eyes wide with fear.

 

Ondolemar smiled at her encouragingly. ‘We survived the Red Ring, didn’t we? We can make it through this.’

 

‘Sure,’ Tandare said quietly. She didn’t look sure.

 

‘Now let’s get go kill that overgrown Argonian,’ Ondolemar quipped, winking. ‘Forward march!’

 

Tandare moved into position alongside Ancalin, flanking Ondolemar with their swords drawn. The three of them moved swiftly through the Keep to the city outside, which was even more of a chaotic scene. Citizens were being herded indoors by the city guard, though some were insisting on staying outside, readying bows, Destruction staffs and spell scrolls. Any guards that weren’t attending to the people were readying their own bows, arrows nocked. And against the backdrop of the bright blue morning sky, the largest winged creature Ondolemar had ever seen flew over the streets of Markarth.

 

 _Oh, ancestors, dragons are even worse in real life_ . Its scales shone red and orange and yellow, the colour of blazing fire. Its enormous leathery-looking wings looked like they could cover the roof of one of Markarth’s buildings with ease, its long, swinging tail capable of swatting Men, Mer and Beast alike as if they were mere flies. Worst of all, its _eyes_. They were crimson-red, alight with a terrifying intelligence which (Syrabane preserve him) the very fibres of his being resonated with.

 

‘Dovahkiin!’ the dragon roared again, stopping mid-flight to _look straight at him_ , oh ancestors, _oh ancestors_ , it was _looking straight at him –_ ‘I have come to avenge the death of my Thuri Alduin!’

 

‘You’re in the wrong place, wyrm!’ Jarl Igmund yelled, and it sounded like he was producing his greatsword from the sheath on the back of his chestplate. ‘You will not find the Dragonborn here! Now leave my city in peace!’

 

The dragon swooped down over the crowds, as if to intimidate them, then dove up to land on the roof of Understone Keep.

 

‘You disrespect me, _joor?_ ’ the mighty beast growled. ‘ _Faaz nah!_ _YOL TOOR SHUL!_ ’

 

Somehow, as it shouted those words, a stream of fire emerged from its maw, bathing the crowds below in heat. People dispersed, screaming for dear life. Again, the dragon shouted: ‘ _STRUN BAH QO!_ ’ Now the sky darkened with rumbling thunderclouds which spat out bolts of lightning, striking buildings and the ground at random. City guards began frantically shooting arrows at the dragon, alongside a number of mages hurling Destruction spells.

 

‘Well,’ Tandare murmured fearfully beside Ondolemar, ‘I didn’t know dragons could do that.’

 

Without thinking, Ondolemar wrapped his arm around Tandare’s shoulders.

 

‘Auri-El shield us,’ he said gravelly, unable to take his eyes off the dragon. Then, he charged in its direction, sword raised, fire spell unleashed, screaming at it with a hoarse, primal voice his guardsmer had never seen come from him before. They were inspired enough to follow suit.

 

Markarth’s fight with the dragon was longer than its citizens had hoped. The wyrm took advantage of the city’s tall buildings and narrow streets, using them to strike many people at once with its shouting; escaping its wrath proved difficult. Ondolemar nearly lost Ancalin to it attacking her and nearby guards with a torrent of frost (‘ _FO KRAH DIIN!_ ’, it had shouted – he didn’t want to think about how achingly natural the language it spoke felt to him –), but he’d cast a Greater Ward on her in time. Finally, after nearly half an hour of back-and-forth, the dragon fell to the ground, collapsing in the city marketplace with a loud _thud_ , its enormous body crushing the merchant stalls.

 

‘That’s two thousand septims I’m not getting back, you damned beast!’ Kerah, the marketplace jeweller yelled, kicking the dragon’s tail. Ondolemar had to admire her bravery there, given that it was still alive – barely hanging onto Nirn, but alive nonetheless. Blood seeped from various punctures in its scales, its breaths deep and ragged.

 

‘ _Dovahkiin_ ,’ it grumbled, lifting its head in Ondolemar’s direction. ‘You… you are _Dovahkiin_ , and yet...’ It coughed up blood, yet stretched its mouth into a... how the fuck could dragons _smile_ _?_ ‘ _Bahlaan_ _zeymahi…_ take…’

 

Before Ondolemar had time to process what it had just said, light he could only describe as coloured like Aetherius poured out of the dragon’s body and into him. The sheer force of it brought him to his knees, then knocked him onto his back, limbs weak at his sides –

 

 _Rahgotgrahjot_ . _Rahgot-grah-jot_ . Anger-Battle-Maw. It – he – was not as ancient as his fellow _dov_ ; no, he was one of the _kiir_ of Talos, shed from Aetherius when Tiber Septim, Wulfharth Ash-King and Zurin Arcturus ascended to godhood as one (this information alone would have been enough to make Ondolemar faint, but –) . It was as if he _were_ Rahgotgrahjot, reliving his memories, which flooded his mind in a crashing wave. He may not have been as old as most of his _briinah_ and _zeymah_ , but he could certainly cause destruction like them. The carnage Ondolemar saw was… immense.

 

Suddenly, he found himself at the centre of it, _causing_ it, cutting a bloody swathe through his enemies with spell and sword. From his breath came fire and frost and a force so strong that it rended foes asunder. He envisioned himself toppling both the Dominion and the Empire, crowning himself atop the White-Gold Tower. He saw Thuban Swift-Arrow and him fighting alongside a blonde Nord woman and a dark-haired Nord man with draconic features, their winged kin flying overhead, _dovah_ and _dovahkiin_ together rather than at odds. _Suleyk_ , power, it was there for the taking, the ability to reshape the world to his will –

 

 _Mu los gein_ , _fahliil_ , Rahgotgrahjot whispered in his mind. _Zu’u ofan hi dii mulaag_.

 

Ondolemar returned to his senses long enough to see a strange white-haired, golden-eyed Bosmer stand over him with a victorious grin on her face. Then, at last, he shut his eyes from overwhelming exhaustion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Every time I plot Ondolemar's character arc in Dovahsebrom, all I can think is, 'Honey, you've got a big storm comin'...' lol.
> 
> Yes, there are now dragons that were born when Talos achieved CHIM in my headcanon Elder Scrolls verse. C0DA let me :P
> 
> Your regularly scheduled Thuban and Dawnguard storyline will return next chapter :)

**Author's Note:**

> Bookmarks, comments and kudos are much loved <3 Criticism is also welcome :)


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